Текст, перевод и аккорды “The Whistle”
- (feat. Masta Killa, Prodigal Sunn) [Intro: RZA] [whistling] [beat kicks in] Di-Di-Di-Di-Di-Digital [RZA] Yo, I beat the case, now I face the acquittal You nizzles try to belittle, but ya'll lest in spittle From a baby's lip, the digi made me flip Plus they paid me chips, just to spray the clip And empty out on you, in sync like the SMPTE output on the MPC 2002 We be housin' crews, plus we housin' fools In abandoned apartments with a thousand tools Crazy shootin' dudes buck off the beat Brainless boutless fools who be stuck off the leaf Two guns in their hands yellin' "Fuck the police!" On the weekend get drunk and they fuck with the niece Of the precint chief, she got the tattoo On her breast that's shaped like The W Go 'head snatch the guns, son, I'll cover you And if they get past me we got another two, yeah... [Chorus: RZA & Prodigal Sunn] We smoke those blunts the size of bats We got those gats as long as ax We snatch that cheese right off the trap We put those Beez all on your map [Prodigal Sunn] I shoot the fair one, I dare ya'll run through New York City Or any city or place, my face, royal taste, pace myself Ace my health, great with wealth Undetected like the wings of a Stealth, I move for self Or any man, woman or child that I call fam That's the way I am, word to Glock, my sister Pam Son, lived through the terror of the World Trade blues Nine o'clock news, abused the mind of many fools Braves and jewels, made my moves, paid my dues From the School of Intelligence, I stayed benevolent Most high, magnify, multiply, as I add to the Kings of Kings We never die, built my name, sustained like blood Flow through the veins divine sign Dine with wine forever sunshine [Chorus] [RZA] We smoke... [Masta Killa] From the Vil to Brazil, live on your C-SPAN radio band Explicit, dice kiss it, pour a little liquor Golden imported from Cuba, Miss Aruba Sexy as Asia, met her up in Mecca Getting up in Just Cipher, hit it on the first date Plotted my escape, twelve hours shift at the gate How can you beat a G a week in '88? Trips to the Pocono Lodge, the fresh Izod Mama shouldn't work so hard to pay the landlord A grand in your birthday card, times is hard The gun hammer click, when the pigs blitz We scramble like Vick, automatic six plus one to the head Yo, the east so hot, it's red, but that's home And my Glock still burn your skin to the bone Sonny Corleone don't discuss it on the phone [Chorus to end]
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