Текст песни Work - Bronze Nazareth
                                                Those 
                                                who 
                                                would 
                                                wish 
                                                to 
                                                test 
                                                Bronzemen
 
                                    
                                
                                                Would 
                                                have 
                                                to 
                                                rely 
                                                entirely 
                                                on 
                                                their 
                                                own 
                                                skills
 
                                    
                                
                                                No 
                                                one 
                                                can 
                                                give 
                                                them 
                                                help
 
                                    
                                
                                                If 
                                                they 
                                                do 
                                                with 
                                                their 
                                                all, 
                                                then 
                                                the'll 
                                                die 
                                                here
 
                                    
                                
                                                Yo, 
                                                I'm 
                                                    a 
                                                diabolic 
                                                bastard, 
                                                    a 
                                                face 
                                                slasher
 
                                    
                                
                                                You 
                                                get 
                                                maced 
                                                after, 
                                                    I 
                                                pull 
                                                the 
                                                blade 
                                                and 
                                                scrape 
                                                faster
 
                                    
                                
                                                Then 
                                                earthquake 
                                                parade 
                                                disasters, 
                                                flames 
                                                chase 
                                                after
 
                                    
                                
                                                You 
                                                fake 
                                                actors, 
                                                I'm 
                                                not 
                                                    a 
                                                thug, 
                                                but 
                                                slugs 
                                                aim 
                                                at 
                                                cha
 
                                    
                                
                                                And 
                                                rain 
                                                faster 
                                                when 
                                                    I 
                                                step 
                                                outside
 
                                    
                                
                                                The 
                                                skies 
                                                turn 
                                                Bronze 
                                                and 
                                                camouflage 
                                                of 
                                                homicide
 
                                    
                                
                                                My 
                                                arms 
                                                alive, 
                                                writing 
                                                worlds 
                                                for 
                                                MC's
 
                                    
                                
                                                Deals 
                                                we 
                                                reject, 
                                                in 
                                                June, 
                                                we 
                                                trust 
                                                the 
                                                tech
 
                                    
                                
                                                Under 
                                                God 
                                                divisible, 
                                                by 
                                                seventeen 
                                                rounds
 
                                    
                                
                                                From 
                                                the 
                                                boat, 
                                                strike 
                                                twice, 
                                                like 
                                                the 
                                                lightning 
                                                sound
 
                                    
                                
                                                Under 
                                                lights 
                                                of 
                                                viking 
                                                crowds, 
                                                slicing
 
                                    
                                
                                                On 
                                                Born 
                                                Days, 
                                                blood 
                                                on 
                                                the 
                                                icing, 
                                                blood 
                                                on 
                                                his 
                                                apron 
                                                waiting
 
                                    
                                
                                                    I 
                                                keep 
                                                my 
                                                statements 
                                                baking, 
                                                black 
                                                plagued 
                                                Matrix
 
                                    
                                
                                                Skylight 
                                                in 
                                                the 
                                                street, 
                                                G.R.E. 
                                                that's 
                                                me
 
                                    
                                
                                                On 
                                                or 
                                                off 
                                                mics, 
                                                acapella, 
                                                get 
                                                chopped 
                                                like 
                                                relish
 
                                    
                                
                                                Hot 
                                                like 
                                                Mexican 
                                                crops 
                                                when 
                                                    I 
                                                sell 
                                                this
 
                                    
                                
                                                Like 
                                                rocks, 
                                                    I 
                                                just 
                                                inhale 
                                                this, 
                                                until 
                                                your 
                                                blood 
                                                flow
 
                                    
                                
                                                Acoustic 
                                                blow, 
                                                snort 
                                                    a 
                                                few 
                                                lines
 
                                    
                                
                                                Quarter 
                                                of 
                                                weed 
                                                and 
                                                    a 
                                                few 
                                                dimes, 
                                                sick 
                                                of 
                                                these 
                                                new 
                                                mimes
 
                                    
                                
                                                MC's 
                                                ain't 
                                                saying 
                                                shit, 
                                                start 
                                                playing 
                                                shit
 
                                    
                                
                                                Like 
                                                saliva 
                                                whys, 
                                                Wu-Tang 
                                                iron 
                                                tried
 
                                    
                                
                                                Peace 
                                                to 
                                                Ol' 
                                                Dirt, 
                                                put 
                                                in 
                                                the 
                                                most 
                                                work
 
                                    
                                 
                            1 Intro
2 Childhood War
3 Beat Snippet #1
4 Richteous Talk
5 Southpaw
6 Bended Knee To The Man Upstairs
7 100 Skeletons
8 He Died From Pen
9 Cassettes
10 One Day
11 Work
12 Beat Snippet #2
13 Shaolin Kung Fu Training
14 To The Table
15 Grammy
16 Solarplexis
17 Beat Snippet #3
18 Tired
19 Sinuhe (Verse)
20 Intro
21 Dopest
22 Aim At MC's 2
23 BaRonze Obama
24 Michigan Rain
25 Black Royalty (Quality Version)
26 Night Of The Long Knife
27 My Pain Is Inside These Notes
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