Tang Clan-Assed Out
๐ต 3024 characters
โฑ๏ธ 2:31 duration
๐ ID: 25420394
๐ Lyrics
RZA, GZA, Ol' Dirt Bastard, Def, Def, 100th, Ghostface Killah
Master Killa, and the Mute
Yo, come on now now, what's happening?
Who get it cracking like a neck snapping when he rapping?
And who them fellas packing yelling Staten
In the background, now back down a few try to clown us
In the past, where they at now?
I'm ill as baby powder with the smackdown for the record
My brain is like the projects projected, for the method
Go see my nigga Kush he got the best shit for burning
This one goes out to whom it may concern and
Spending their entire earnings tryna get a higher learning
MC's is vermin like E.B. Sherman
Y'all too determined feeling yourself like Pee Wee Herman
While we at it, let's tighten up our grips around that cabbage
Dirty rabbits, how many kids done tricked you out your carriage?
Little bastards and ghetto bitches, I'll break you like a bad habit
My dick is two inches too big for his britches
Uh, so fuck a mister and your missus
Cotton mouth niggas X'd out like Merry Christmas
That all? Uh huh, be home
Knock knock, who is it? To count a five digit
My block too hot to visit, 'round here you got to live it
MC's, you must admit it, I'm deadly on this mic like
Anthrax is on the premise, anyone of y'all can get it
I breathe, Backwood sleeves and THC, I bleed
Kamikazes and forty OZ's of America's Most
The better the smoke, the better the quote
For Chedda Meth I'll sever the throat, whatever the coast
I'm home, let the sun shine on, get his grind on
And get some phone time every time I'm in your time zone
Look here, it's Crooked Letter I
Y'all don't see nothing but crooks here
It's hot in Hell's Kitchen, get your cookware for cooking
MC's is like that shit chicks be gushing for pushing
Got me tooking down to Central Booking, I stick out
As if Tical just walked up in the party with my dick out
And I'm prepared to take the shit I dish out
When you realize that what you got ain't what you want
Just turn around and realize that what you got ain't what you want
Just turn around and realize that what you got ain't what you want
Just turn around and realize that what you got ain't what you want
On the expressway suddenly I'm hit the brakes
When a state patrol figure just ran the plates
I pulled to the shoulder a half mile ahead
The vibe got colder when the marksman said
"Yo, you in the truck, get the fuck out your car
Put your hands where my eyes can see, not far"
A fat slob with pepper spray in a canister
Donut shop lounger, nine mil' brandisher
Plus my half pound just rang the bell
Of the bloodhound, had a acute sense of smell
I guess he was tired of the strip and booking whores
Moving off a tip he's claimed he's looking for
Some MC's wanted for a string of break-ins
Last seen wearing long minks and snake skins
When you realize that what you got ain't what you want
Just turn around and realize that what you got ain't what you want
Just turn around and realize that what you got ain't what you want
Just turn around and realize that what you got ain't what you want
Master Killa, and the Mute
Yo, come on now now, what's happening?
Who get it cracking like a neck snapping when he rapping?
And who them fellas packing yelling Staten
In the background, now back down a few try to clown us
In the past, where they at now?
I'm ill as baby powder with the smackdown for the record
My brain is like the projects projected, for the method
Go see my nigga Kush he got the best shit for burning
This one goes out to whom it may concern and
Spending their entire earnings tryna get a higher learning
MC's is vermin like E.B. Sherman
Y'all too determined feeling yourself like Pee Wee Herman
While we at it, let's tighten up our grips around that cabbage
Dirty rabbits, how many kids done tricked you out your carriage?
Little bastards and ghetto bitches, I'll break you like a bad habit
My dick is two inches too big for his britches
Uh, so fuck a mister and your missus
Cotton mouth niggas X'd out like Merry Christmas
That all? Uh huh, be home
Knock knock, who is it? To count a five digit
My block too hot to visit, 'round here you got to live it
MC's, you must admit it, I'm deadly on this mic like
Anthrax is on the premise, anyone of y'all can get it
I breathe, Backwood sleeves and THC, I bleed
Kamikazes and forty OZ's of America's Most
The better the smoke, the better the quote
For Chedda Meth I'll sever the throat, whatever the coast
I'm home, let the sun shine on, get his grind on
And get some phone time every time I'm in your time zone
Look here, it's Crooked Letter I
Y'all don't see nothing but crooks here
It's hot in Hell's Kitchen, get your cookware for cooking
MC's is like that shit chicks be gushing for pushing
Got me tooking down to Central Booking, I stick out
As if Tical just walked up in the party with my dick out
And I'm prepared to take the shit I dish out
When you realize that what you got ain't what you want
Just turn around and realize that what you got ain't what you want
Just turn around and realize that what you got ain't what you want
Just turn around and realize that what you got ain't what you want
On the expressway suddenly I'm hit the brakes
When a state patrol figure just ran the plates
I pulled to the shoulder a half mile ahead
The vibe got colder when the marksman said
"Yo, you in the truck, get the fuck out your car
Put your hands where my eyes can see, not far"
A fat slob with pepper spray in a canister
Donut shop lounger, nine mil' brandisher
Plus my half pound just rang the bell
Of the bloodhound, had a acute sense of smell
I guess he was tired of the strip and booking whores
Moving off a tip he's claimed he's looking for
Some MC's wanted for a string of break-ins
Last seen wearing long minks and snake skins
When you realize that what you got ain't what you want
Just turn around and realize that what you got ain't what you want
Just turn around and realize that what you got ain't what you want
Just turn around and realize that what you got ain't what you want