Текст, перевод и аккорды “Money Don't Own Me”
- feat. Christbearer, Monk, Stone Mecca [Chorus: Tru James] My woman, and my money, don't own me... I've got to, keep holding, my own [RZA] Heaven, heaven... The dangerous dynamite dosage, mind full of explosives Digital brain is the closest to Moses Civilizing came, the flame inside the hoister Revitalize the game, the names on the poster The mask with no cape, the flash'll crush grapes The dancer on the lap, the ass wit no face It's shaped like an ace, say your grace before you taste it Haste makes waste, slow down or you ain't wait The bunny in the car look like an Indian squall The honey's in the jar, the money's in the bra It's funny hahaha, how dummies, hahaha Think cuz we call 'em sunny, they can be a star I implement the instrument, disintegrate the 10 percent You entered the square, but you don't know where the circle went You ain't worth the cent, you cursed, I Birthed the Prince Drenched the baby from creators that the nurses sent You can't still convent, don't have seven cents Grave the raven, my birds are heaven sent Where the brethren went? where the Reverend went? I told you these words are heaven sent [Chorus] [Monk] It's time to show you how them rugged MC's rock If that's steel you see, it's that steel I pop If that Benz I walk, it's that Benz I cop Who rock them white tees first, get a West Cost props Can't nobody it better than, the West Coast veteran Three six letterman, Monk's the name Black Knights the gang, I'll ignite the flames Strike my hood up on the wall, and cross out your name With a K on the end of it, that won't be the end of it Til them guns is drawn, and you standing on the end of it Poof be gone, I'mma write that wrong I'm the shit all by myself, nobody writes my song Peep my technique, strictly gangsta classics Gun talk, nigga, muthafuck theatrics My flow is matchless, ain't no way you can surpass this Level I'm on, better go home, and try to practice [Christbearer] Why yes, am I next to impress D-T-S, bless the best, no cess Stress, from guess to gold press The quest to protest, we head the Pro Keds But this is the new improved shit '08 from the AMG, '92, bitch [Chorus]
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