RZA, Ras Kass - Handwriting on the Wall lyrics
[RZA, Ras Kass - Handwriting on the Wall lyrics]
We on some Phantom of the Opera shit
It's the Gothic shit
As I produce the Waterproof mask
You never ask the question
"Who's the man behind the red mask?"
About to a drive-by on MC's so listen aiyyo!
Yo my mic check is Robo Tech
Run over the track till my
Lyrical GigaPet slow flow
Cardiac arrest like FloJo, rock ice Ro-Ro
Pack fo-fo fo' sho tho more and more cream
And niggas Still Love You Rakeem
The game of death
We kickin niggas in the chest like Kareem
My wingspan is wider than Rodan
My sweet and sour niggas wit nose
Candy sniff blow by the gram
I grammatically slam
Before I eat a groupie bitch pussy
The Honorable Minister Louis Farrakhan
Is eatin ham so catch me in Deep Space Nine
Wit eight million stories on seven continents
And six billion bullets on the Star Trek
Solid state logic thug niggas electronic
Eat, drink, sleep, shit, fuck
Build and smoke chronic
Playa, this is not a game, I said it before
Went through the door I came wit Wu Tang
The Artist Formerly Know as You
Got snatched out his truck on
Florence and Normandy Duke
We strictly Digital
Yo, yo, yo, yo the Last Starfighter
My thoughts make the sun shine brighter
I bust in a bitch mouth to
Make her teeth seem whiter
Roam like space drones through all time zones
Your face get blown, I make home
Bobby'll fuck Grace Jones
Mocha caps with dilithium crystal
Raise the pendulum cuts through
Your ear tissue, digital signal
Scramble your brain then regain residuals
Like Microsoft
My mic might go off before the lights go off
You derelict bitches
I give your tonsils eighty stitches
Bobby long strong
Even fuck the Eastwick Witches
It's the Gothic shit
As I produce the Waterproof mask
You never ask the question
"Who's the man behind the red mask?"
About to a drive-by on MC's so listen aiyyo!
Yo my mic check is Robo Tech
Run over the track till my
Lyrical GigaPet slow flow
Cardiac arrest like FloJo, rock ice Ro-Ro
Pack fo-fo fo' sho tho more and more cream
And niggas Still Love You Rakeem
The game of death
We kickin niggas in the chest like Kareem
My wingspan is wider than Rodan
My sweet and sour niggas wit nose
Candy sniff blow by the gram
I grammatically slam
Before I eat a groupie bitch pussy
The Honorable Minister Louis Farrakhan
Is eatin ham so catch me in Deep Space Nine
Wit eight million stories on seven continents
And six billion bullets on the Star Trek
Solid state logic thug niggas electronic
Eat, drink, sleep, shit, fuck
Build and smoke chronic
Playa, this is not a game, I said it before
Went through the door I came wit Wu Tang
The Artist Formerly Know as You
Got snatched out his truck on
Florence and Normandy Duke
We strictly Digital
Yo, yo, yo, yo the Last Starfighter
My thoughts make the sun shine brighter
I bust in a bitch mouth to
Make her teeth seem whiter
Roam like space drones through all time zones
Your face get blown, I make home
Bobby'll fuck Grace Jones
Mocha caps with dilithium crystal
Raise the pendulum cuts through
Your ear tissue, digital signal
Scramble your brain then regain residuals
Like Microsoft
My mic might go off before the lights go off
You derelict bitches
I give your tonsils eighty stitches
Bobby long strong
Even fuck the Eastwick Witches