Wu-Tang Clan - 16th Chamber lyrics
[Wu-Tang Clan - 16th Chamber lyrics]
16th Chamber, temple number five
Somebody said it's on
If it is then I'll be set
To blow a nigga up
With my Five Fingers of Death
I bring it to his whole damn fam, understand
If he frontin, on any man down with the Clan
I be comin, for that headpiece you can't cope
For my brother, I even kill a Pope
Word to mother
Serial, killa, style from the Isle of Stat
My peoples are you with me where you at?
Shit's gettin deep in here, I mean like thick
Niggas lookin all in my face
Like they want dick
It's about to hit the fan, hit the flo'
That's all I can stands
And I can't stands no mo'
What is it? Niggas think they bigga
Because they got the finga on
The trigga of a biscuit
They don't know I'm wicked
When I start to kick it with the raw sound
Wash it down with a Mystic
Better yet a Snapple, nigga want the juice
But he don't want the hassle
Thought they trying to overthrow the castle
Better yet the temple, I'm comin to your town
Black down, the rental, car, the pistol
YAH! If you don't want a burn from Glock
Then beware, I buck shots, meaning what
The buck stops
Here, no more dough will be made
Unless it's being made by who the 1-6-Ooh
Chamber four (1-6-Ooh) Chamber four
Temple number nine, temple number nine
I'm the original G-O-D
Making young ladies scream is my specialty
When I go ooh-wah, ooh-wah, ooh-wah
Girls wanna get hype
From the funky fresh music
That was stereotyped
When I kill, that ol' mad rugged flow
Not sayin Ason, is like a duck of disco
Or a disco duck, I'm strictly hip hop
Yo, Ason, what's up? I can't stop
Wu Tanging, flipping the script and
You could test my skills
But niggas must be trippin
Coked up from sniffin
You're the one who's riffin i'm not Opie
Save that old shit for Andy Griffith
You start to flip, now ya slip
Cuz you're slippin
While you sleep I be the God on point
Like Scottie Pippen
As I, jump on stage, cold flip a rip a show
Strip or rip a ho, ready like Bo
Jackson while I'm still taxin, I'm maxin
Relaxin, sittin backs and, laying tracks and
Again and again when I rock this jam
I wanna see 'em up in the air
Throw up your hand
A child that's wild, now with the style
Couldn't stand
Niggas wanna jump, then stepped
To the center
Of the rhyme inventor, MC tormentor
You get jacked and slapped, across the MC map
I laugh at ya ass, on a horse shack
Come on through I black and
Blue your whole crew
Then I get rudie with the Hong Kong Phooey
The Ol' Dirty Bastard, MC killer
Money maker, Brooklyn, Shaolin style
That I lay down like tile
Gotta hit you up, one blaow
So you better come down
Somebody said it's on
If it is then I'll be set
To blow a nigga up
With my Five Fingers of Death
I bring it to his whole damn fam, understand
If he frontin, on any man down with the Clan
I be comin, for that headpiece you can't cope
For my brother, I even kill a Pope
Word to mother
Serial, killa, style from the Isle of Stat
My peoples are you with me where you at?
Shit's gettin deep in here, I mean like thick
Niggas lookin all in my face
Like they want dick
It's about to hit the fan, hit the flo'
That's all I can stands
And I can't stands no mo'
What is it? Niggas think they bigga
Because they got the finga on
The trigga of a biscuit
They don't know I'm wicked
When I start to kick it with the raw sound
Wash it down with a Mystic
Better yet a Snapple, nigga want the juice
But he don't want the hassle
Thought they trying to overthrow the castle
Better yet the temple, I'm comin to your town
Black down, the rental, car, the pistol
YAH! If you don't want a burn from Glock
Then beware, I buck shots, meaning what
The buck stops
Here, no more dough will be made
Unless it's being made by who the 1-6-Ooh
Chamber four (1-6-Ooh) Chamber four
Temple number nine, temple number nine
I'm the original G-O-D
Making young ladies scream is my specialty
When I go ooh-wah, ooh-wah, ooh-wah
Girls wanna get hype
From the funky fresh music
That was stereotyped
When I kill, that ol' mad rugged flow
Not sayin Ason, is like a duck of disco
Or a disco duck, I'm strictly hip hop
Yo, Ason, what's up? I can't stop
Wu Tanging, flipping the script and
You could test my skills
But niggas must be trippin
Coked up from sniffin
You're the one who's riffin i'm not Opie
Save that old shit for Andy Griffith
You start to flip, now ya slip
Cuz you're slippin
While you sleep I be the God on point
Like Scottie Pippen
As I, jump on stage, cold flip a rip a show
Strip or rip a ho, ready like Bo
Jackson while I'm still taxin, I'm maxin
Relaxin, sittin backs and, laying tracks and
Again and again when I rock this jam
I wanna see 'em up in the air
Throw up your hand
A child that's wild, now with the style
Couldn't stand
Niggas wanna jump, then stepped
To the center
Of the rhyme inventor, MC tormentor
You get jacked and slapped, across the MC map
I laugh at ya ass, on a horse shack
Come on through I black and
Blue your whole crew
Then I get rudie with the Hong Kong Phooey
The Ol' Dirty Bastard, MC killer
Money maker, Brooklyn, Shaolin style
That I lay down like tile
Gotta hit you up, one blaow
So you better come down