| Song | Still Grimey |
| Artist | Wu-Tang Clan |
| Album | Wu-Tang Meets The Indie Culture Instrumentals |
| 作曲 : Daval, Hawkins, Price, Ruff ... | |
| [U-God] Yo, rated x, smack you off the stage when | |
| I'm vexed | |
| No sweat, | |
| I crack a cold case of | |
| Beck's Guess whose back, the jack of all trades is next | |
| The rap cuisine, | |
| I crack a raw egg and flex | |
| I cave in your chest, this one came from the jets | |
| Yeah, the cause and effect, make innocent blood pour | |
| The streets is like the rap game, a daily tug of war | |
| For rich or for poor, or death do us part, niggaz come for test [Chorus: U-God] | |
| Still grimey (grimey, grimey) | |
| Still slimey (slimey, slimey) | |
| Don't try me (try me, try me) | |
| It's been ten long years, you can't untie me [Sean Price] | |
| Bring fire and | |
| Ruck let the heat pour | |
| Niggaz like | |
| Ruck 'Fuck you rhyming to this beat for?' | |
| Listen, life is like a muthafuckin' seesaw | |
| One minute you're hot, the next, your rep drops | |
| None of your biz, fuck around, and run in your crib | |
| Wife like ' | |
| He ain't here', throw some to your wiz | |
| Niggaz running up on me, til the tre' pound click | |
| Talking 'bout ' | |
| Ruck, let's battle' on some 8 | |
| Mile shit | |
| I'm like; nigga, my name ain't | |
| B. Rabbit | |
| It's Sean | |
| Price, Big | |
| Ruckus from busting these ratchets | |
| Call me gay basher, for fucking up these faggots | |
| Ya'll niggaz ain't nothing, stop fronting, stay passive | |
| Yo, pass the dutch, on the left hand side | |
| Sean gone til | |
| November, stole | |
| Wyclef's ride | |
| Bob Backlund, car jacking, | |
| New Jersey driving | |
| Ya'll niggaz ain't think about rapping, til you hear me rhyming, oh [Chorus] [Prodigal Sunn] | |
| I keeps it real in the field, | |
| Navy feel on the drill | |
| Never stingy with my bills, plenty gravy | |
| I spilled | |
| Recorded in the history of rap, two inch reels | |
| Seven to ten mills, eleven to twenty hills | |
| Rest in peace to my brother | |
| Half-A-Mil | |
| Unnecessary blood spilt, another thug killed | |
| Move with the mass appeal, the blast still | |
| For the Cash | |
| Money Click, | |
| No Limits and no thrills | |
| Mad cuz your hoe, feeling | |
| P. Sunzini, give you | |
| As sweet as a kiwi, face it, you not me, nigga | |
| Ladi dadi, the | |
| Gods like to party | |
| We don't cause trouble, but we can make you a body | |
| Ladi dadi, the | |
| Sunn likes to party | |
| I don't cause trouble, but | |
| I will make you a body | |
| Flowin' high in the | |
| Mazarati, two with my ninjas beside me | |
| Lively, floating on some | |
| Ducatti's | |
| With two gellati's, two hotties, we never sloppy | |
| Jewelry rocky, | |
| Spanish pieces, they call me papi | |
| Clear fire | |
| Bacardi, sobered up like | |
| Gotti Rest in peace to my dog, | |
| Shotti, Shotti [Chorus] [C-Rayz Walz] | |
| On the corner ready to bo', holding my nuts | |
| Standing by my building looking at myself in the truck | |
| My reflections... (still grimey) | |
| Oscar the | |
| Grouch's worms (still slimey) | |
| I got a jones for | |
| Miss Piggy's ham hiney | |
| I can be a bum in the slums, and slam shiny | |
| On every corner, | |
| I'm grams, you can find me | |
| The boss of the burners, | |
| I fire shots if your nine speak | |
| This is true | |
| Manchu, and who you, fams too? | |
| Better have they face in the game, like the | |
| Blue Man Group | |
| I heard you smell me, | |
| I make it funky | |
| Rock hard and kick ass like, | |
| I hate you donkeys | |
| My oatmeal lumpy like | |
| Johnson's | |
| Bumpy, Harlem humpty | |
| Hungry wolves, pain's hummer, harbor hungry | |
| Dumpty, blazing trees, now leave an | |
| O.E. present | |
| Know why the hood feel me, like police presence [Chorus] |
| zuò qǔ : Daval, Hawkins, Price, Ruff ... | |
| UGod Yo, rated x, smack you off the stage when | |
| I' m vexed | |
| No sweat, | |
| I crack a cold case of | |
| Beck' s Guess whose back, the jack of all trades is next | |
| The rap cuisine, | |
| I crack a raw egg and flex | |
| I cave in your chest, this one came from the jets | |
| Yeah, the cause and effect, make innocent blood pour | |
| The streets is like the rap game, a daily tug of war | |
| For rich or for poor, or death do us part, niggaz come for test Chorus: UGod | |
| Still grimey grimey, grimey | |
| Still slimey slimey, slimey | |
| Don' t try me try me, try me | |
| It' s been ten long years, you can' t untie me Sean Price | |
| Bring fire and | |
| Ruck let the heat pour | |
| Niggaz like | |
| Ruck ' Fuck you rhyming to this beat for?' | |
| Listen, life is like a muthafuckin' seesaw | |
| One minute you' re hot, the next, your rep drops | |
| None of your biz, fuck around, and run in your crib | |
| Wife like ' | |
| He ain' t here', throw some to your wiz | |
| Niggaz running up on me, til the tre' pound click | |
| Talking ' bout ' | |
| Ruck, let' s battle' on some 8 | |
| Mile shit | |
| I' m like nigga, my name ain' t | |
| B. Rabbit | |
| It' s Sean | |
| Price, Big | |
| Ruckus from busting these ratchets | |
| Call me gay basher, for fucking up these faggots | |
| Ya' ll niggaz ain' t nothing, stop fronting, stay passive | |
| Yo, pass the dutch, on the left hand side | |
| Sean gone til | |
| November, stole | |
| Wyclef' s ride | |
| Bob Backlund, car jacking, | |
| New Jersey driving | |
| Ya' ll niggaz ain' t think about rapping, til you hear me rhyming, oh Chorus Prodigal Sunn | |
| I keeps it real in the field, | |
| Navy feel on the drill | |
| Never stingy with my bills, plenty gravy | |
| I spilled | |
| Recorded in the history of rap, two inch reels | |
| Seven to ten mills, eleven to twenty hills | |
| Rest in peace to my brother | |
| HalfAMil | |
| Unnecessary blood spilt, another thug killed | |
| Move with the mass appeal, the blast still | |
| For the Cash | |
| Money Click, | |
| No Limits and no thrills | |
| Mad cuz your hoe, feeling | |
| P. Sunzini, give you | |
| As sweet as a kiwi, face it, you not me, nigga | |
| Ladi dadi, the | |
| Gods like to party | |
| We don' t cause trouble, but we can make you a body | |
| Ladi dadi, the | |
| Sunn likes to party | |
| I don' t cause trouble, but | |
| I will make you a body | |
| Flowin' high in the | |
| Mazarati, two with my ninjas beside me | |
| Lively, floating on some | |
| Ducatti' s | |
| With two gellati' s, two hotties, we never sloppy | |
| Jewelry rocky, | |
| Spanish pieces, they call me papi | |
| Clear fire | |
| Bacardi, sobered up like | |
| Gotti Rest in peace to my dog, | |
| Shotti, Shotti Chorus CRayz Walz | |
| On the corner ready to bo', holding my nuts | |
| Standing by my building looking at myself in the truck | |
| My reflections... still grimey | |
| Oscar the | |
| Grouch' s worms still slimey | |
| I got a jones for | |
| Miss Piggy' s ham hiney | |
| I can be a bum in the slums, and slam shiny | |
| On every corner, | |
| I' m grams, you can find me | |
| The boss of the burners, | |
| I fire shots if your nine speak | |
| This is true | |
| Manchu, and who you, fams too? | |
| Better have they face in the game, like the | |
| Blue Man Group | |
| I heard you smell me, | |
| I make it funky | |
| Rock hard and kick ass like, | |
| I hate you donkeys | |
| My oatmeal lumpy like | |
| Johnson' s | |
| Bumpy, Harlem humpty | |
| Hungry wolves, pain' s hummer, harbor hungry | |
| Dumpty, blazing trees, now leave an | |
| O. E. present | |
| Know why the hood feel me, like police presence Chorus |