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    Wu-Tang Clan / Lyrics

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    "Cash Still Rules/Scary Hours (Still Don't Nothing Move But the Money)" Lyrics

    Wu-Tang Clan

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    Shake them niggas
    Scary hours no money out, smash the Guinness Stout
    Play the outfield, Lucille, switched cracks on shields
    She's a rich fiend, sacrifice her fam, shift them niggas
    To Queens, Guess jeans she charged thirty-five beans
    Hit the cell phone, regulate with well known Tone
    A Wally kingpin, who also slam and strike edition
    Whattup, Corleone smoke the bone Tone phone me
    Whattup he tried to slang there, address him with chrome only
    Grady with the gray beard, transport for him
    Rockin Nike at? Rastafarianburg, pipin that
    Switchin Benzes, ten carat nigga with gold lenses
    Frontin like he's sittin on a lump he's sittin on junk
    You wanna pull a heist, draw guns and robberies
    You wanna rock rep, step in yellow Wallabies
    Names arraigned, the century fox, little Glocks
    Them niggas with stocks, wail on your blocks
    Rich lifestyle, spoiled like an ordinary white child
    But right now, Son is still shine, shed light now
    Breakdown, liquidate God, fuck it grab the nickel plate
    Spencer for Hire, tension when we mention Dryer
    He's a slave cop, behave pop
    Blue suits who bay stop us blow that cat
    At the Purple Haze spot

    I remember stickin fiends at the one-six-ooh
    When we was starvin, duckin five-oh, payin em dues
    Times is hard in the slums I'm from, they got us barred in
    We warrin and cage dodgin, rippin and robbin
    Got the NARC sabotagin, slippin cracks in
    Your camoflougin, now you snitchin on the squadron
    That's somethin niggas can't pardon
    City overrun by young gun with bad intention, and Wu-Wear garment
    So I see no need to mention, the potency
    Of a sting from a killa bee, kickin the battery
    Out the back of them wisecracks
    Distorted for your get high you hijack
    These friendly skies ain't for you, they for me and mine
    This the year of the grimy nigga, ragtime
    Keep these niggas on the run, peep my Clan emblem
    Iron Lung ain't got to tell you where it's comin from

    Catch us swimmin with these sharks now, you rap villains
    (I feel the same way you niggas feelin)
    We feel the same way you feelin, let it be known (let it be known)
    What the blood clot you niggas dealin, you crash dummies
    Cash rules, still don't nuttin move but the money

    Aiyyo strongarm that kid right there with wavy hair
    Billy Johnson, snatched him out his whip in Times Square
    Took his Pumas, nameplate, dude lost weight
    Summer eighty-eight, started a fight, that can't wait
    Ask Dorothy, same kid pussy up in Marcy
    Blazin' that Ted Rossi, up in The Marquee
    He lost like a hundred ounces, Jake rushed his houses
    Had him on the porch, ass no trousers
    This souped up, individual stuck, the new stuff
    Same kid cryin' on the stand with Judge Cuffner
    Kissed him with odd numbers three to nine style
    Before he left he flashin' his face like Denzel
    Richard Dale took his Beaver, off the wall pullin his whip
    Mussy dropped and split his wig with the heater
    His shape-up was all fucked up, as he had me laughin'
    God you see how he was laid out, in the grass
    With dirt in his mouth, Slim woke him up told him he wild out
    Blood leakin from his teeth he smiled like he gunned out
    Big bolo, stackin his shit financed a Volvo
    He copped his shit from a small, coffeeshop in SoHo
    He still pussy, he sell his dust up on the Lower East
    Posin like he rappin out
    This song was submitted on October 18th, 2016.
    Thanks to Snap for the contribution to this song.
    Copyright with Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group.
    Written by Clifford Smith, Corey Woods, Dennis David Coles, Selwyn Dajuan Bougard.
    Lyrics licensed by LyricFind.

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