House of Flying Daggers

Album: Only Built 4 Cuban Linx II (2009)
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  • He he he he, nobody is going to save you now

    Soldiers in the front, let the heat pump
    Troops on the left, fight to the death
    Fam on the right, infrared lights
    Wolves in the back, ready to attack
    Soldiers in the front, let the heat pump

    I pop off like a mobster boss
    Angel hair with the lobster sauce, summertime can't top the scorch
    Check my hot broad, I dropped the Porsche
    F-B-I wanna watch the force, trying to lock my source
    Where I'm from, hear the macs, techs, glocks and fours
    Hide the safe, nigga, lock the doors
    No respect for the cops and laws
    In the land where your own blood brother still plot for yours
    Seen things that'll drop your jaw
    My soldiers got dropped in war, see the mural on the project wall?
    Won't stop til I copped them all
    Wanna block me? You gots to brawl, tray shots and all
    Cause I ain't on the clock for talk
    The Spot Rusher, blow down the spot for sure
    Still break off the block with raw, my stock is more
    The General, watch your board

    Deep pockets with the eight on me, sleep with the safe in the wall
    The cameras on with the make-up and all
    Swap six 45's, twist reefer in the flicks, papi whoadie ride
    Bolt his gun off, from know your horse, she lied
    Fly criteria, bury me in Africa
    With whips and spears, and rough diamonds out of Syria
    A true don, only I could do wrong
    Rock fitted hats, get crack money and drive a sick blue joint
    Retard-less, I'mma blow regardless
    Resume is straight up live, I shank niggas up for larger E's
    And speak with the youth in the spot, eat the fresh fruit in the crop
    All these hip hoppers eat cock
    You can see me in the street or the yacht
    I'd rather be promoting your block or buying fresh sneakers with gwops
    Yo, I'm an ill dude, always been a real dude
    Don't fuck around, I will spill on you and kill you in the field, boo

    Soldiers in the front, let the heat pump
    Troops on the left, fight to the death
    Fam on the right, infrared lights
    Wolves in the back, ready to attack, for what

    Soldiers in the front, let the heat pump
    Troops on the left, fight to the death
    Fam on the right, infrared lights
    Wolves in the back, ready to attack, for what

    Leather jackets on, rocked up rock stars
    Treacherous bank robbers, the plan gold up, we pop guards
    The team gotta eat, seeds is hungry, that's why we ain't scared
    To dump on niggas, our guns is chunky
    Usually we bust niggas down with bats, swell up they joints
    Elbow, wrists, they shins get cracked
    We still humiliate, brutalize, Ruger pop, pulverize
    Still got gear in the closet, that's stupid live
    From Benetton rugby skullies, Oshkosh conductor jumpers
    The train hats fit me lovely
    Rae job is to make sure the coke is fluffy
    While I politic his birthday bash with Puffy
    Bagged Nia soon as I linked up, the kid ain't inked up
    I'm an old mummy, my gold weigh as much as King Tut (yeah, yeah)
    Slippers, robes is minked up, under the doo-rag, bro (uh, yo, yo)
    My three dimensional fade is clean cut

    Man, ya niggas ain't shit to us, still a pistol bust
    Split your melon like I split the Dutch
    Got a lot of piff to puff, and I ain't come for fisticuffs
    Or for the cop that wanna clip the cuffs
    Man, is Staten in this bitch or what, don't get it twisted, we
    Twist it up and even mixed with dust
    See these fans can't resist the rush, they Wu-Tang for life
    Scarred for life, they can't forget the cuts
    Got a whole line of classic joints, and while you at it
    Pass the joint, let's push this music past the point
    Of no return, til they crash and burn, down the ashes
    Then placed inside Ol' Dirty Bastard's urn
    When it's my time to go, for sure, ya nigga goes to war
    What you think I brought these soldiers for?
    To send shot like forget me not, at any nigga
    Respect, bitch, that figure they goin' get me got

    He he, your basic kung fu is no good
    You can't move fast enough
    And you don't have enough strength
    And your body movements are like a string climb
    It's too easy for me to trip you up

    He he he, how's it feel, huh?
    It's no fair, I'm afraid my back is broken
    Ha ha ha, you still got a lot to learn Writer/s: Clifford Smith, Corey Woods, Dennis David Coles, James Dewitt Yancey, Jason S Hunter
    Publisher: Spirit Music Group, Universal Music Publishing Group
    Lyrics licensed and provided by LyricFind

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