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Текст песни King Just - Shaolin Soldiers

King Just - Shaolin Soldiers слова песни

[Intro]That`s all we got, we gonna needChoose, you readyYeah, let`s do this shitYeah, yeah, yo who be that?Yo that`s the God?Yeah, word up, niggas gotta learn to fuckin answer me dudeI want `em all, fuck thatShaolin, Shao!!![King Just]What, what, my Gods is raced upThe thought that I throw is like a blow to your gutWord up, what the fuck, the God creates dramaTwo-Six horror, terrorize the nigga mamaI smell marce in the air, yeahWhere, all my Gods standin right hereIn the rear, tryin to sneak me from behindShaolin, rush `em, nah nah he`s minesDie Earth scum, die, dieIt`s just like a needle goin straight to my eyeOh why, does it have to be this wayI don`t know, but I flip the shit everydaySo come on, where you at, where you atPass me my gat, I`ma kill a cat, if they ever fuck wit the ratsAnd that be the shit in my lifeThe God ain`t trife, yikes, yikesFool strikes, kung fu, killa comin throughOoh, that be that nigga from the ZooBut yet ya wanna ask me, how I slam a jamIt`s simple, all I do is gram on a gram in a crackerHit ya like a linebacker, I`mma gat yaWhen I get ya, I`mma blast yaBlaow, like Kool Moe Dee, how ya like me knowWhen my style is ill, raow raow[Chorus 6X]Shaolin Soldiers! (Hey!)[King Just]Enough is enough, wit this corn ball stuffAbout who can get rough and tough, or who can get snuffedPlease, if you came to battle, then rapCuz your name ain`t Scarface, and you don`t own no gatYou ain`t hurtin nothin, ain`t no future in frontinYou probably ain`t even sayin nuthinYo you`re bluffin, puttin like your styles is phatBut your rhymes are wack and you sound like you on plaqueNew Jack, you`re a wanna be, down to be, soon to beWhatever you want, let it beAnd I`mma hit ya wit a safer rapTo make you shut ya trap, and get the God hand clap, smackHit across your lips wit some shitThat make ya wanna spit and do two back flipsBlue top, I clear through the airYou against me? Well I don`t think that`s fairYou need more people to match my equalAnd even if then, there won`t be no sequelYo, let`s get straight to the matterHow my thoughts get phatter and phatter and phatterAsk Betty Crocker, yo it`s in the batterAnd I`mma climb the charts and splatter[Chorus 5X][King Just]Why would you wanna write my shit like that?Why must the God chase the cat?Why would you even wanna front like that?Smile in my face, and talk shit behind my backDamn nigga, you must of wasted ya timeIf you wanted to be rapper, I done wrote you a rhymeYo, you don`t get no props, for bitin my shitYou only get props, for bein on my dickBut when you hear this, don`t be madJust be glad, that I ain`t whip on ya monkey assYou got a lotta balls bitin my styleSoon we gonna be on it like aow, aowPut your shit on the courtCuz this one here takes to take `em, yo I`m brakeLord forgiveness sake, for they do not know what they doWhen they bent the Zoo, I should of brought it to they whole crewBadoop a doo, oh my God nigga, let`s be realThe eight commandment, says thou shall not stealHelp police, I`m being robbedBy some corns on the car, that need to get a fuckin real jobThe Mob rocks more shit than bouldersI told ya, everybody can`t be a soldier[Chorus 9X]

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