Iconoclasts - Wu-Tang Clan, Killah Priest, Vast Aire & Wisemen: Song Lyrics, Music Videos & Concerts

Wu-Tang Clan, Killah Priest, Vast Aire & Wisemen

Iconoclasts

40

On Tour

Hip-Hop/Rap

Iconoclasts was released on May 14, 2013 by Shaolin Music Group as a part of the album Soundtracks from the Shaolin Temple

Song Details

AlbumSoundtracks from the Shaolin Temple

Release DateMay 14, 2013

LabelShaolin Music Group

LanguageEnglish

Melodicness

Acousticness

Valence

Danceability

Energy

BPM81

OVERVIEW

LYRICS

Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS

Wu-Tang Clan

Performer

Killah Priest

Performer

Vast Aire

Performer

Wisemen

Performer

Vast of Cannibal Ox

Vast of Cannibal Ox

Performer

COMPOSITION & LYRICS

Theodore Arrington

Theodore Arrington

Songwriter

Walter Reed

Songwriter

Justin Cross

Songwriter

PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING

Wu-Tang Clan

Producer

Killah Priest

Producer

Vast Aire

Producer

Wisemen

Producer

Vast of Cannibal Ox

Vast of Cannibal Ox

Producer

Lyrics

I spit at these lyrics, so vivid, they pictures

On project walls, twelve feet tall, hell greets y'all

Fire brimstone, the writer, grim poems

Edgar Allen Poe with the flow goes the silencer

Upon the cold nozzles of the four-four caliber, *shot shot*

No more challenger, bullets show like Gallagher

Ink pens in my hand, like a spray paint cans

You can't resist your mind, the black Michelangelo

Hands'll sculpt, the Eiffel tote, the mics I broke

Residue leads to a trail, another Priest tale

Death I brewed, the witch-lord-king, that rip off wings

When I spit sixteen, it gets extreme, explicit scene

No more dreams, just cold screams, happening

Reoccurring rappers wanna perform, they need insurance

My cyclone poem, fix the roof of the Superdome

You crash your plane in my building, just tryna get on

And it's a vein, cold rain, write my words in propane

Keep the heat in store, like the stones in Maytag

Carry more blades than grass in your yard, grab your rake

I'm originalnman on the take, burning the shake

Roll 'em, blow, the solar fails out the blood bank

The Wu-Fam armory, my beats got bodies

Know the rolly when to grave with the tip of a shotty

Pasidena lobby, bullet holes from robbery, probably

Veins made of cobblestone, bitches go home wobbly

Capture life like photographs, double stuff hash

Pure mid-serious grim with the verbal whiplash

From the fetus to the oversear, I bleed it

****, your crime'll Crystal Mountain, just to try to go see it

My life is a movie script, John Singleton reading

The blood flow like magnum, harder then traps in Eden

Send shockwaves like circles, some objects dropped in lakes

I spray phrases 'til the brain can't operate

Discombobulate, the populate, Texas Chainsaw lock your grip

Counter row, Wu symbol conglomerate

Team I'd rather far, than be spit in the face

Jesus asked God when I'm dropping my next tape

****, Bronze colored disc, razor blade shape

End endurance, **** is rap at spitting raps

Get back to whatever y'all was doing before that

It ain't working for you, no one's even heard of you

Tried to get ya grams up, wound up with your hands up

I'm a bonafied hustler slash MC

The first on the scroll, and the last to leave

I ain't rich, so the streets is my blueprint

And it just so happens, I can translate it in music

Roll with dutches, long as a pool stick

And make sure everybody down for this movement

**** is apple pies, soft as coolwhip

And Detroit cats be the last **** to fool with

Throw a rose down inside my grave, massage my dead brain

With oils of the soil inside the dirt I bathe

Unclaimed as a slave with the heart of Virginia

I'm signed for life, years, now it's pitch black, my ****

Fearing the legend, the reverend, predicted the cold night

Black ski mask, yo, I'm the cross in the sights

I climb the hill of the ill with a concrete sword

And woe my hood, joe, as the hero of the world

Spit lessons for the old school **** and adolescences

Fabric, fly material dressing, blessing my body

Addicts is lively, hot sessions, sweating in seconds

Tracks is robbery, draining me out from what's inside me

Masses of static, me and this mic is like a manic

Pours this methane, is either small dope or it's magic

Attacking my brain from spitting loud since I'm bonafide

I lost a life, crystal my block, I've seen it soponified

Pass me the dutch, I'll fill it up

I wrote this rhyme in the corner, like I was a dunce

If I, told ya twice, I told ya once

That's word to the Trina' man, that sold you fronts

You be number nine, I did not stutter

The sun is my dad, the moon is my mother

Look dude, there is no other

Like the Three Wisemen, that came from Persia

To bless Jesús, peace to Baby Jesus

I'm becoming the Buddha, this is my thesis

I am the chosen, I've walked on water that wasn't frozen

And you can talk shit, but look at your lip, now it's busted

Sort of like burgundy, bubbling custard

I don't wanna discuss it

I'm on another level, come on, man, look at my mustard

That's Grey Poupon, what planet you on?

You wanna take my oil, I show you my rocket

You wanna take my chain, I'll break your eye socket

Kamikaze, you can't stop this

Divine wind, I'm climbing

To reach, higher states, you're drownin'

Sitting on the same corner, frowning

This is L.X.G., microphone clowning

Yeah, what up Michael Vangelo

My **** Vast Aire, Cannibal Ox, the Wisemen

(Killah Priest), Kings Row Music, (K7, the bull Phillie

Illadayz, Bronze Naz, Salute the motherfucking Kid

I told y'all ****, Wisemen, we here, Kings Row, ****)

Yeah...

Written by: Justin Cross, Theodore Arrington, Walter Reed

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