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[Chorus x2: Thea Van Seijen] Bloody samurai, my feet will never die Bloody samurai, my sword will never die [Crisis:] Yeah, I'm like daredevils, I dare devils to take it to that level Make 'em dig they own grave, with they own shovels Sharpshooter drop helicopters, black out shadows Cause when it's time to ride, it's like pedal to the metal Full fledged, beat suicidal, leave holes with skull heads Hit your cult for your vote, leave 'em all dead And some, Knights like games, plus handsome Hoes hold me ransom, you mad and throw tantrums Seven braids like Samson, strength of Jobe Since these niggas wanna trip, I make it all unfold Didn't choose the genie, didn't choose the leprechaun Niggas better watch the grapes, like they stepping on Thinking it's a game, I rose him, now your ass is frozen Nuclear explosion, we straight West Coasting [Thea Van Seijen:] I was born as a soldier, and I'll fight in a field I'll run like a hunter, and I'll die in the field [Chorus x2] Songtexte[Rugged Monk:] The street apostle with Roscoe's, that'll burn flesh off your fossil Make you suck on that nozzle, 'fore you swallow these hollows Clutching a bottle, yeah, I'm a hard act to follow Nigga, I don't write raps, little homey, I write novels Every chapter I capture, the mind of millions When I slang raps like crack, to the women and children Bring down the building, crime wars, oh what a feeling Feels good like I'm puffing on that sticky chameleon The street villain, made most of his money from drug dealing It's rules to the game, trust nobody that's squealing Cause snitching is a pet peeve, like a bitch with a bad weave It's not honor amongst thieves, nigga deal with greed I'm from a breed of real killas, that's cutthroat That'll front you to work and kill you if a buck short Bloodsport, flick you like the butt of my Newport Or with the butt of my gun, take that, nigga, run [Dexter Wiggles:] I come to stop the hollering and screaming, blaow Stop screaming, make a nigga wish he still dreaming Since appearing against a ninja, taught him barbarianism South Central mentalism, like the local news on the local high school For all this realism, don't let all the whites go there Cause all the whites'll go there, have 'em all braiding they hair And having tattoos, and street numbers instead of good grades from school It's like ridicule, and what would Jesus do? If he was standing at apartment, he was beeping with that dizzle Like a hole ain't enough to end all ridicule But a ho'll get real holy enough to preach and end you [Chorus x2] [sample:] If you win, I'll tell you where to find the number two If I win, I have your head Do we have a deal? (Merci à M£NPH!$ pour cettes paroles) Aus Songtexte Mania