Song | High Price, Small Reward |
Artist | GZA |
Album | Beneath the Surface |
作词 : Bean, Grice, Turner | |
I wiped the chrome off wit the dust cloth | |
'fore i bust off | |
What's the cause, life loss, high price to pay | |
For a small reward, kill for that bushwick and horsely broad | |
I provided the jump cables, through to boost the mini-pack | |
Based on the drama unfolding in a track | |
I dont' hold back, i spare no one | |
Swords swing like shogun, now who want it? | |
You see the truth, then act upon it | |
Or feel the fire's fore view | |
Ain't a mc that i hit can pull through | |
That niggas are like kid, flashin plastic tools | |
Unaware of the most-year dynastic rule, what stupid! | |
[masta killa] | |
Without a doubt, it's in the heart where the best darts were written | |
Sittin at the window of the grand old earths | |
Youths thirst for knowledge, i teach but hold heat | |
Cuz some savage niggas are lost beyond reach | |
Broken homes breed seeds of no guidance | |
Left to wonder the streets and experiment wit devilish men | |
Violent, felon offenders, supreme folders | |
One-twenty bomb holders let em off and explode | |
The battefield haunting the daunting | |
Wu-tang dance deadly emits six pence | |
Spiral rifle, barrel pointed, elastic noose | |
Plastic head wrapped stifle, survival | |
Tribal, title secret rival | |
?archual? subliminal message throwin | |
Bitch niggas holdin on labels | |
Mic cables, capable of slowin down jets on deck | |
Fuckin you straight through continuously | |
Justice, wit more of the critical penital | |
Some long overdue, now served by the chiefs on cheat | |
Drummer bills is the street prophecies fulfilled | |
Better chill, currents to the invited | |
Bang for the 'phones, live niggas on they way home | |
Snatch poems from clones, we got it sewn |
zuò cí : Bean, Grice, Turner | |
I wiped the chrome off wit the dust cloth | |
' fore i bust off | |
What' s the cause, life loss, high price to pay | |
For a small reward, kill for that bushwick and horsely broad | |
I provided the jump cables, through to boost the minipack | |
Based on the drama unfolding in a track | |
I dont' hold back, i spare no one | |
Swords swing like shogun, now who want it? | |
You see the truth, then act upon it | |
Or feel the fire' s fore view | |
Ain' t a mc that i hit can pull through | |
That niggas are like kid, flashin plastic tools | |
Unaware of the mostyear dynastic rule, what stupid! | |
masta killa | |
Without a doubt, it' s in the heart where the best darts were written | |
Sittin at the window of the grand old earths | |
Youths thirst for knowledge, i teach but hold heat | |
Cuz some savage niggas are lost beyond reach | |
Broken homes breed seeds of no guidance | |
Left to wonder the streets and experiment wit devilish men | |
Violent, felon offenders, supreme folders | |
Onetwenty bomb holders let em off and explode | |
The battefield haunting the daunting | |
Wutang dance deadly emits six pence | |
Spiral rifle, barrel pointed, elastic noose | |
Plastic head wrapped stifle, survival | |
Tribal, title secret rival | |
? archual? subliminal message throwin | |
Bitch niggas holdin on labels | |
Mic cables, capable of slowin down jets on deck | |
Fuckin you straight through continuously | |
Justice, wit more of the critical penital | |
Some long overdue, now served by the chiefs on cheat | |
Drummer bills is the street prophecies fulfilled | |
Better chill, currents to the invited | |
Bang for the ' phones, live niggas on they way home | |
Snatch poems from clones, we got it sewn |