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(Asia) Yeah |
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(Ghost) Yo, yo Asia, whattup God? |
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(Asia) It's the God Wu-Tang shit |
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(Ghost) Uh-huh, yeah baby, let's just murder this track |
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(Ghost) That's my word |
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(Asia) Yeah, Supa Dave West |
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(Ghost) Uh-huh, yeah (yeah) aiyyo Lord spank 'em |
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(Planet Asia) |
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Yo, powerful rap robotic style off chronic to cosmic |
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Follow this flow from out the projects |
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My shine timeless, clique +Criminal Minded+ |
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My time spent, knockin out daily assignments |
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The capacity of my writtens make y'all niggaz look mindless |
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In Mortal Kombat, I leave a challenger spineless |
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This five-five-nine shit, three strike off |
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Dirty cop killer music that the streets can absorb |
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Old souls run deep in my pores, your desperation |
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predate the Earth, formin the path of civilizations |
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Nappy academy, maunfactures the new slang |
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My singles be the jingle like, pockets of loose change |
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My crew bang to set the mic a-fire with Wu-Tang |
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school y'all, Wu-Tang all in your poontang |
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Bullies of the block knock, gun in your face |
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Run in your house, tie you up and run in your safe |
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I'm from a sheisty-ass place where the gangsters dwell |
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Crack sellin to rap federal, we takin this mail, what? |
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(Chorus: Planet Asia) |
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From borough to borough, block to block |
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It don't stop like paper when the new shit drop |
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To all my peoples in the hood on their way to the top |
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Get yours, whether anybody likes it or not |
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From city to city, and coast to coast |
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Real niggaz in the spot gotta profit the most |
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To all my peoples in the hood on their way to the top |
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Get yours, whether anybody likes it or not |
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(Ghostface Killah) |
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Aiyyo it's Tony the rapper, Starks the ballplayer |
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I won't rock Wally 'til they make more flavors |
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+Bulletproof Wallets+, take off gators |
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And my .22 shotty'll take off faces |
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Eighty-eight Pumas, velour laces |
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Dusted out in the staircase where {?} pays me |
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So many hits I need both stages |
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Your two.. your two cars can't touch my four bracelets |
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One of the most Williest niggaz from Staten |
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Ran through Manhattan with Wally's made of satin |
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Cherry-pop coppertop niggaz rattin, guest what happened? |
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Had to end a nigga with the mac-10 |
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Masquerades, feds ask and raid like |
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Raekwon shallah still be in my PJ's |
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They knew it was them, plus they saw him do well |
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On tour with Theodore Genie actin full ill |
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(Chorus) |
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(Planet Asia) |
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Bust your gun, but I still touch ya son |
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I don't run cause a nigga got, dusty lungs |
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And when I talk people be like, you must be from |
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the N.Y. but them I tell 'em nah I'm straight Californian |
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Blunts make me born again, ballin where the Warlords dwell |
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I still rank first place in the tournament |
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Go 'head, act cocky, and meet your match |
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Next time I see you bet you'll be one of the speechless cats |
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Voice raspy suddenly all the hoes wanna gas me |
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Heard I did a song with Ghost nasty |
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My murder rap murder tracks, clean like a cat who dress flashy |
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Y'all niggaz what's the ass be, they whole style trashy |
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Uncut live I got to say one thing |
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I'm the hardest workin EVER to step foot, in Chung King |
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Unclean, this year, show you who run things |
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Dumb things, more than a hundred thousand funding |
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(Chorus) |
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(Ghostface Killah) |
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Yeah, yeah whattup? Ghost Deini, Planet Asia |
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Y'all know how we do, straight up |
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I got my man Perm meetin me in the booth |
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A.C.T., word up, it's like that |
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Stark Enterprise, screw y'all |
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The W, the Clan, for real |
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Hotter than a gun on the sun motherfucker |
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Yo... |
