Chains (feat. Masta Killa & Killah Priest)

Keep on knowing what you know Keep on knowing what you know End up, up, up, in chains, chains, chains Back in '88, son was getting a little paper Caught a few stings, rocked the phat rope cables Pushed the white Mercury Sable, known for holding heat Ferragamo moc's on his feet, serpents whisper You can smell the deceit, they greet me like peeps, to blend And try to befriend, to get up, underneath the skin My long wind'll blow ya head piece degrees Murder One Team, Barcelini Noodle had lean Microphone fiend, step into the rhythm This is how I'm serving them, no need for medic attention I just murder them, murder them, pussy, I just murder them Keep on knowing what you know Keep on knowing what you know End up, up, up, in chains, chains, chains I'm a dip-dip diver, socializer I'm a who flat top rule, in eighty niner They say "Rugged, by now you should have at least blown" It's funny, I'm mad famous for being unknown I'm just a dirty motherfucker, they hate my guts All I talk about is bitches, and busting nuts Yeah, I got a foul mouth, yeah, I cuss too much I'm just so Ricky Ricardo, ridiculous And I ain't got no fly whip, I still ride the bus I got Mitch Blood Green on the scene with us Hospitable, hitable, cooler than digable, criminal Miracle, lyrical, take every syllable literal It'll riddle, profitable, visible, iritibal Little brittle pitiful fists will do little but tickle, you typical Yeah, I talk shit, I'm cocky with it It's hard for you to admit it, but I'm one of the best in it Keep on knowing what you know Keep on knowing what you know End up, up, up, in chains, chains, chains My mind is haunted, filled with the extension of slaves that's torment Slow down my steps, one foot from the grave to con it Our young black males, they lick pon gate Sun of the morning roasted souls, tell Minister "come pray" It's gun trade inside of smoky apartments Flow process, one nine, two tech, four revolvers Coke overboiling kettles, it's like we struck oil in the ghettos We supply it to addicts, the devil work He practice, he's like a search backwards Til they throw that dirt in our casket, and that's it I live where the fiends are nothing, just a scene of the projects, similar to Osama's An old man, at the top of the stairs, he just stare Cuz his mind ain't there, victim of the war Polar signs, the times is near He drop the jewels, til you buy him a beer He said he was a linebacker for the Bears Said he did it all back, while he's drying his tear Yeah, it's that real shit, that made me That music from the '80's, the child's of the '70's I live long til they bury me 2 Follow Embed