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Shyheim

Club Scene

  hip-hop  wu-tang  rap  new york  wu fam
415,00 прямо сейчас

Текст песни Shyheim - Club Scene

Shyheim - Club Scene слова песни

Intro:You want lessons?It`s to get with it, we out niggaCome on![Shyheim]I came into the party with my fly Wu-Wear shit onTwo hundred in, my teeth flex, gotta throw my hit onMovin through the crowd with my shines hangin outHit the bar, for a Henney straight, no chaserGuzzle it down, honies crowdin around the Killa BeeBuy you a drink, you kidding? Love, you got to beSince you on my dick, won`t you buy me a drink?Chewin my ear off, tellin me that she met me in the rinkI don`t get tricky, got too much GGot a degree in P.I.M.P-alogy, acknowledge meNot a playa, teach these niggas how to be, I`m ?Wallabeeneny?Thugs throw it up, everytime they see meI hollow back, "Where the bats at?"Baseball fitted hat, 7-1-8ths, New York Yanks`She was Miss Elliot Trace, from her shoes to her facewith a body just like a Ferrari shapeShe asks me, "How you get that cut on your face"?That`s when the DJ shouted out, "Shyheim`s in the place"I was high off the notion and caseIt must have been her birthday cuz she was holdin mad cakeHer man holdin no weightHe low-budget, she told me we was fluckinWe with two of her friends and three of her cousinsWe in the corner whinin, my whole team`s shininIt`s time to go when these fake rappers start rhyminFor real sonChorus:You know the club scene, 7-40, I beamYou know the club scene, big icy links and minksYou know the club scene, fuck around and get shotYou know the club scene, niggas spend all they gotYou know the club scene, shorty, she lookin hotYou know the club scene, niggas be on Bra`You know the club scene, you better tuck your watchYou know the club scene, we flossin in the parkin lot[Shyheim]There`s a party goin on, down the blizz-ockIn this little hot box, but you might get shotCuz there`s a lot of Knuckleheadz, who`ll be playin this clubA hole in the wall, I got my gun in, ain`t searchin at allI watch you hand-to-hand niggas, that be tryin to ballWith your little ghetto-fame, Tech to snatch your chainThey used to call him Killa, now Got-Murdered his nameI smack Earth, Wind & Fire out lamesTake money, thuggin ain`t a thingI got my drink in my right hand, left hand in my pantsI don`t dance, just be loungin in my B-boy stanceRespect my gangsta, move like an army at warSpit some Willy in the air, and we slid out the doorAbout a quarter to 4:00, jumped in the 4x4, smooth like velourSay no more, every party I go to, I bring a bird homeCall me Cabosa Indiana JonesChorus[Shyheim]I had this show O.T., at this venue called RitzI was rockin the mic, when I noticed this bitchShe was lickin her lips and her rubbin her titsI can tell that she stripped, I had to politicBut she was with this achin bitch, Alienation bitchThrowin peanuts in my Jif, makin me sickEtcera, etcera, I`m liable to get rid of herI don`t give a fuckTook her in the bathroom, picked her up in the tubI`m like a drug, I be stalkin the clubLadies beware, eighteen and above, what?I`m a heart-breaker, the mind-raperThat don`t spend no paper and don`t like bitches that wear makeup

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