paroles de chanson Sour Diesel - 9th Prince

Say another muthafuckin' word, and this shit is over
And I ain't playing, nigga
Now, you ain't got no gun
But where the weed at?
This is what it is right? Word, yeah
This is what it's about, this is how it's going down?
Aiyo, I'm raw like Kane, blood stain the game
Revenge of the 9th Prince, selling like cocaine
Nobody knows my pain, strain on the brain
Last nigga fronted, they found him slain
In the gutter, niggas is slipping like butter
That's when I heard a utter, shut-shut the muthafucka
I can't help it, the flow is so dangerous
Ya'll the most lameless, living shameless
Check out my guest watch, the diamonds on the bezel make the best watch
Pray that you will know the time just like a clock
I want Jay-Z and Lil' Wayne's spot
I was always taught, hip hop was an art, so play it smart
Sour diesel niggas get high everyday
Niggas in the projects, every day, every way
Said, sour diesel niggas get high everyday
Project niggas, every day, every way
You want a chick like mines, a whip like mines
A four-fifth with a kit, that look like mines
That look like mines, he want a piece of the pie
You want to go to Cinderella's and throw ones in the sky
But you can't be I, big S-H-Y
Got crazy niggas on payroll, like S.S.I.
Think he really want drama, for the rest of your life
It ain't easy, being greasy, my neezy, believe me
I got felonies, nigga, got Big L in me nigga
So the cells in me, nigga, people taking my picture
The young God fisher, Bottom Up Militia
Getting richer and richer, and I'm a Staten Island nigga
Should just be you, cuz you can't be
Bottom Up C.E.O., L.E.O. VP
Bottom Up C.E.O., L.E.O. VP
I'm Bottom Up C.E.O., L.E.O. VP
Ya'll must be blowing that sour, or sniffing that powder
You see the Black Market logo, my flow is the foulest
Spit in the face of cowards, drink Henny from a chalice
My strength that just, shake the walls of the palace
And I'm cut from the heavenly cloth, rose bearers
Drop petals at my feet when I walk
You know I carry that cross, kiss the ring and the boss
For snitch that wanna talk, yeah that things go off
You start to feel no remorse for the lies that's lost
Now you sing a sawed-off, that'll rip your limbs off
The homicide on the scene, yeah you line it in chalk
Buried in Ku Klux, while they still holding the pitchfork
Aiyo, live with the Prince of New York, the Pale Horse
And now he lit with his torch, burn diesel and never cough
Now I'm sitting in court, for aggrivated assault
Bitches asses, left the hospital on life support, come on