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    Wu-Tang Clan / Lyrics

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    "Older Gods" Lyrics

    Wu-Tang Clan

    Verse One: Ghostface Killah

    Aiyyo I roll like a bat out of hell
    Evil acapell's fly spittin out of my grill
    Before I hit the sky with springtime colors
    Juicy as a Sunkist, certain broads double dutch this
    They carve it in they wrist, pales berry blazes
    Straighten the crumbs left on the stove, clothes in my lady hair
    Plus yours the look gold God, the old tainted bald technique
    Got these vestibules designer niggaz in they whips
    jumpin out they seats, eighteen, Bronzeman Part II
    We like Dorothy Hamill on ice

    We in your hood we might circle, hats down low in the Range
    Switch lanes, change my tire, peel out
    Real loud on the stage yo, I shitted on your hood kid
    I shitted on your hood, got to your burner too late
    I'm lookin real good, draped out
    Shinin like a fresh fifty cent piece, your girlfriend, c'mere
    Oh shit, you my man's niece, the gourmet pocket twenty
    bombs made of clay, Sexcapades take place
    We fucked in forty-eight shades might walk up in your studio
    time slap your engineer, it's lighter fluid to that style
    Hand me the matches now

    Verse Two: Raekwon the Chef

    Aiyyo rainbow Roley on the wrist, now what's this
    Niggaz bless this, eight and a half, Bally banana twist
    E shakes, puffin on lye, feedin the seed's plate
    Pullin out, old dirty eights to rob gates

    Major wake up, the kid telltales, make a nigga head wake up
    Beats break, the nigga would take off his time
    Honolulu status, gladdest
    the rich rock cabbage and dollar vans grands
    That nigga mad savage, stationary Hall of Justice
    Niggaz came clumped out
    Just came home, now they bunked out
    Money be longer than triple life
    til the sun burn out, that's my word
    Move it with the burner out
    Fidel way of thinkin, roll with the Mac bent Ac-10
    Most of my team, Five Percent check what the live said
    Rollin with Guess vests pedestrians yo
    holdin my nuts, fuckin thousand dollar lesbians

    [Ghost] Yo, the Older God put me on and had to rock this
    [both] Maintain Three-Sixty Lord live prosperous
    [Ghost] It only takes a lesson a day, just to analyze life

    [both] one time in the respectable mind
    (repeat 2X)

    Verse Three: The Genius/GZA

    Let the shot spark, soon as his pit bull barks
    Tire scars from skid marks leaves from jams in school parks
    Witness, forget his, original statement
    Even in protection programs there's no escapement
    Gunned down, we in town, hit king from seven crowns
    Spent rounds catch him while he rhyme in the Zebra Lounge
    Wounded, back in the eighty-three summer heat
    Up in three-oh-nine park, rhymin off the drummer's beat
    I stalk the city streets demonstratin mic wrecks
    All lookin stank, I ain't playin wit a full deck
    And as they nervously stare, I know they scared
    They saw the coming of Wu, the neon in Times Square
    Household name, assassin, killa bee
    Mill to the grain, that posess the Wu, trilogy
    Quick to spot those that bite camoflouge and blend
    Those that got styles, they got identical twins
    Don't stretch the small thing, copycats are finnicky
    without skills, they master the art of mimicry
    But I go line for line on the whole page
    Your unspotted life on the mic is old age

    *rocket fired, whistles off and explodes, breaking glass*
    This song was submitted on February 8th, 2008 and last modified on October 18th, 2016.
    Copyright with Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group.
    Written by Corey Woods, Dennis David Coles, Gary E. Grice, Selwyn Dajuan Bougard.
    Lyrics licensed by LyricFind.

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