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Ghostface Killah - Block Rock lyrics
[Intro: scratched up samples] "You out there, on now" "Sorry... that's word, I'm not the herb" "Understand what I'm saying, saying, saying" "It's the hardcore" "Set it off, rusty, low down" "Following me, it be the God" "Whatever, whatever" "God all" "All New York, ight" [Ghostface Killah] Yo, aiyo, the Wally man's coming, you can hear his chain dangle Brolic arm, check out the ankle Best cuts, diamond sittin' sideways, like they sit in the cup You can pour Goose on it, juice on it, two Jamaican sluts On the streets, cousin, word life, them big boy Toys'R'Us Got them S5 fifties Maybach's, push suede back Four hundred g's, on the concrete, save that Like James Brown, it's the Big Payback Same place you front's where you get laid at Strong arm a nigga for real, we eat ya food Like dog, muthafucka, in replace of a meal Give you a two hour car chase, flying through lakes and bushes Holding the wheel, still burning the swishes Exotic killas who bribe to kill us, and we pay for a tab Don't matter what size the bill is We don't need your support, wack speech your thought Just to rhyme my shit when the tape cut off The price of fame, a dope chain, the same chain Yo, he tapped to the roof, watch the block, watch 'em hang [Chorus: Ghostface Killah] From Broad Street down to Milledge You fucking with experienced killas Mean wolves, silver back gorillas Them Theodore kids' gorillas You fucking with experienced killas Silver back gorillas [Ghostface Killah] The grenade gonna hit like a bomb from Flex The street is never at peace when I palm a tech My enemies is sub, dude, I'm a black belt The moves I do, is how Bruce stick Kareem Abdul Same dudes give a bitch booze, stupid rich dudes Crystal, chandellier ice, keep a wrist full Cuz, if Lil' Jon, can ice his cup I top that shit, and ice my nuts See I'm a threat when it comes to rocks At 3 A.M., you like damn, who put the sun on the block Is he crazy? Illuminate like the Son of God And still pull up in the hoopted out rented car With dust and weed on him, knock the neighborhood bully out Take his gun and pee on him The magazines cant develop my flicks The negatives came, and printed out them c-note chips Keep the heat flaming, beats banging, bottle of weed stanking Competition, yo, I'm giving out strict spankings Burn 'em like bacon, some want Satan In the hell fire, screaming, yo I'm sorry for faking, baking. [Chorus] |
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| Last added lyrics |
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