U-God, Inspectah Deck, eLZhi - Mt. Everest lyrics

I make 'em nod like ketamine
See him live might dive off the mezzanine
Ground drama, sound harder than crowd bonkers
I'm 'bout dollars, I touch down in your town
Holla iNS, gladiator, call him Hustle Crowe
Son of pro
Watch these lame niggas come and go
Blessed with the poison pen
Murder was the case so I
Guess it's them boys again
Through your duce high, salute I
Be the general the last one to run
I will take all ten of you
I'm feeling myself BK whiling the belt
Rocking my shit, eyes on the real wealth
Me and Goldie tell 'em it's easy money
Now shorty wanna fuck, that's sleazy, honey
Fame call us, money, it change all us
Get it how you live it
Or sing the same chorus the game taught us
Nothing in the bank for us
W claim walrus, yeah, Wu Tang for life

Was raised on the island of the misfit's
The children of the corn snatch
Your green with the biscuit's
It's what you might call food for thought
And what's the killer season if
You don't include the salt
This thought will start a feud and
Leave your whole mood distraught
Used to feel safe until they
Unscrewed your vault and
Took your common sense out your memory bank
Then dumped on you like
Missiles over enemy tanks so homie
Drive slow like you in front of five-O
Cause forks go in a road and your
Back is where the knives go
While the addicts hiding silver spoons
Being cut so deep
It's hard to heal the wounds
Those flashing don't blast
They still buffoons
Just blowing out hot air
They should fill balloons
Yo, I like them shorties
That'll kill for goons
And start a hustle in an April
To ccop wheels in June

I want leverage, ice cold beverage
Money I can't count
I blacked out standing on Mount Everest
Life lessons, the cover of essence
It's pure excellence, 5'10"
Write down my measurements
Politic the deficit, fingerprints
No evidence
Cocaine, caviar, hitting on receptionists
Hang with the specialists, gold medalist
Presidential cred
Eating steaks that's tenderest
Got my bread, catch me in Megan Fox' bed
Cash crop, Gucci IPad, bag
Tall black top Nikes, with fat laces
Riches from rags, cashes and dime faces
Got promoted up, friends up in high places
Next move, my best move, chess move
The strategy closet full of guns, son
Nothing but gadgetry
Get off that bullshit, that hip hop faggotry
I'm highbred nigga words defy gravity
Clothes never raggedy
Oil paintings of me displayed up in gallery
Capture me, Wu Tang forever, immortality
High salary
Blessing from a mother named Valery
And my two sons named after me
Racks from stacks, swiftly I'm browsing
First class ticket to the moon
Only cost fifty thousand
Niggas be doubting, it's understood
I'm running with goons
One of a kind, imported goods
Killer the hood consume me, Lord
The last time I checked got
50 points on the board good Lord