[Intro: Killah Priest (Masta Killa)]
|
Let it flow, deh-deh-duh (yeah) it's on (beh-deh-deh-deh)
|
(Den-e-neh) on... (yo, aiyo)
|
|
[Chorus: reggae sample]
|
Keep on knowin' what you know
|
Keep on knowin' what you know
|
End up, up, up, in chains, chains, chains
|
|
[Masta Killa]
|
Back in '88, son was gettin' a little paper
|
Caught a few stings, rocked the phat rope cables
|
Pushed the white Mercury Sable, known for holdin' heat
|
Pharoah garmer marks on his feet, serpents whisper
|
You can smell the deceit, they greet me like peeps, to blend
|
And try to befriend, to get up, underneath the skin
|
My long wind'll blow ya head piece degrees
|
Murder One Team, Barcelini Noodle had lean
|
Microphone fiend, step into the rhythm
|
This is how I'm servin' them, no need for medic attention
|
I just murder them, murder them... pussy, I just murder them
|
|
[Chorus]
|
|
[R.A. the Rugged Man]
|
I'm a dip-dip diverse, socializer
|
I'm a hoof flat top rule, in eighty niner
|
They say Rugged, by now, you should of at least blown
|
It's funny, I'm mad famous for being unknown
|
I'm just a dirty motherfucker, they hate my guts
|
All I talk about is bitches, and bustin' nuts
|
Yeah, I got a foul mouth, yeah, I cuss too much
|
I'm just so Ricky Ricardo, ri-di-cu-lous
|
And I ain't got no fly whip, I still ride the bus
|
I got Mitch Blood Green on the scene with us
|
Hospitable, hitable, cooler, than Jacob who criminal
|
Miracle, lyrical, take every syllable literal
|
Little riddle, profitable, visible, iritibal
|
Little brittle, pitiful, for so through little, you tickle, you typical
|
Yeah, I talk shit, I'm cocky with it
|
It's hard for you to admit it, but I'm one of the best in it
|
|
[Chorus]
|
|
[Killah Priest]
|
My mind is haunted, filled with the extension of slaves that's torment
|
Slow down my steps, one foot from the grave to con it
|
Our young black males, they lick pon gate
|
Son of the morning, roasted souls, tell Minister "come pray"
|
It's gun trade inside of smokey apartments
|
Flow process, one nine, two tech, four revolvers
|
Coke overballing kettels, it's like we struck oil in the ghetto's
|
We supply it to addict's, the devil work
|
He practice, he's like a search backwards
|
Til they throw that dirt in our casket, and that's it
|
I live where the fiends are nothin', just a scene of the projects, similar to
|
Osama's
|
An old man, at the top of the stairs, he just stare
|
Cuz his mind ain't there, victim of the war
|
Polar signs, the times is near
|
He drop the jewels, til you buy him a beer
|
He said he was a linebacker for the Bears
|
Said he did it all back, while he's dryin' his tear
|
Yeah, it's that real shit, that made me
|
That music from the '80's, the child's of the '70's
|
I live long til they bury me...
|
|
-----------------
|
Chains (featuring Killah Priest & Masta Killa)
|
R.A. The Rugged Man |