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    Ghostface Killah

    Daytona 500

    4:41
    6.13 МБ
    192 кбит/с
    18

    Добавлена 20 февраля 2008 пользователем AND1

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    Текст песни Daytona 500
    Текст песни Daytona 500

    [singing]
    We are the G, O-Ds
    And we came to rock, the spot
    Like Ironman Starks
    They be the illest MCs, in the world today
    Cappa Raekwon and the R-Z-A
    So listen to them clear, and put the box right near your ear
    Light your blunts and down your beers
    Cause you could never fuck with Wu-Tang Killer Beez...
    [Verse One: Raekwon the Chef]
    Say peace to cats who rock mack knowledge
    Knowledgists, street astrologists
    Light up the mic God, knowledge this
    Fly joints that carried your points
    Corolla Motorola holder
    Play it God, he pack over the shoulder
    Chrome tanks, player like Yanks, check the franchise
    Front on my guys, my enterprise splash many lives
    Rapel on fakes like reflectors
    He had sugar in his ear in his last crack career
    We can can him, manhandle him, if you wanna
    run in his crib-o, get ditto, skate like a limo
    And jet to the flyest estate, relate take a break
    Break down an eighth and then wait drop it like Drake
    Thugs they be booing and screwing, we canoeing
    Claim they doin the same shit we doin, fuck your unit
    Its the same style, RZA trainable, jump the turnstyle
    On the alley tried to challenge God for the new vials
    Especially that, aluminum bat in the act
    Relax, lay back, sell a grenade a day, it pays black
    The Mac-10 flex white cats like Windex
    Index finger be sore, bustin these fly scripts
    The Wally kid count crazily grands with our plans
    Layin with my bitches and my mans in Lex Lands
    We losin em, jet to the stash and now Jerusalem
    Abusin em, rockin his jewels like we usin em
    Low pro star, seven thick waves rock Polar
    Roll with the older God, build with the Son and the Star
    [Chorus]
    All these MCs start realizing
    That Ghost got that shit, thatll keep you vibing
    The Wu is here to bring, you Shaolins finest
    But if your shields are weak, you better step behind us
    [Verse Two: Ghostface Killah]
    Mercury raps is roughed then God just shown like taps
    Red and white Wallys that match, bend my baseball hat
    Doin forever shit, like pissin out the window on turnpikes
    Robbin niggaz for leathers, high swipin on dirt bikes
    Voice be metal like Von Harper radio bubble
    Murder sleep away camp, the fly lady champ
    The arsonist, who burn with his pen regardless
    Slaying all these earthlings and fake foreigners
    In the Phillipines, pick herbal beans, bubbling strings
    Body chemical CREAM, we burn kerosene
    The conviction of my tape is rape, wicked like Nixon
    Long-heads inscriptions with three sixes in
    Kiss the pyramid experiment with high explosive
    I slapbox with Jesus, lick shots at Joseph
    Zoomin like binoculars, the rap blacksmith
    Moneys Rolex, with sparkles, Chef ragtop is spotless
    Im Iron Man no cheap cash metal Im steel alloy
    True identity hidden inside secret tabloids
    Breathe oxygen both sides of my jaw carry oxes
    The track hit like the bangers, in hundred watt boxes
    Yo jostling these cats while Little J be deli-ing
    Sip Irish Moss out of Widelians
    [Chorus]
    [Verse Three: Cappadonna]
    Give me the the fifty thou, small bills
    My gold plate, my slang kills
    My Benz spills, whattup Lils
    Murder one Dunn
    Killer bee stung, guess who back home Son
    My technique of slang camp won, third platoon soon
    Cristal bottles, cages of boom, probably wardrobe
    The mad-hatter big dick style, beware goons
    smuggle balloons, lord of dooms, in fat pussy wombs
    Let the Gods build, pull up the grill
    Check out the mad skills
    Top secret technique, too hard for you to peep it
    and keep it, jiggy style of rap and watchin knuckle slang
    sweep it out of order ape recorder cant record my slaughter
    spoil the rotten Don is too good to be forgotten
    High top notch, borderline rhymes is handcocked
    Ninety-six, my ill sound clash is still hot
    Get yourself shot
    [Chorus]
    [ Daytona 500 Lyrics ]
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