Verses - La the Darkman, Scaramanga Shallah, Ras Kass

Yeah, yeah

Sham’s nine times ultra

Wu-Tang herbs two times great, you heard of me

Nigga, L.A.D., six times ill

Rest in peace O.D.B

La the Dark, Sun large

GZA, Ras Kass, yeah what’s up, Wu-Universal

Legendary

Now it’s the real beginning of the pages of Shams

Spit that heat rock that make fiends make vapors of grams

Sham’s is the greatest fan, rock big cables of sands

Valleys and trunks, I got the mack ten

We can hit the alley with iron and thumper

Take it to the hands like the brand new Leonard

Niggas going no mas, when the bullets go in him

You dealing with a night stick toker

The ice pick poker, trust you ain’t like this joker

And the set, devoted to opening your neck

With the tech, as you sit in a Lex'

Your next move, is slipping, your last move is shitting

As your body gets soft, the shotty went off

Little soldiers, you’re out of position

Guns go off, Shams is a Raiders fan

A rhyming gallop reporter, columns are lost

White five, black five with dollars to toss

Twisted by the dark side of the force

Black biscuit, by park side in a Porsche

You’re off sides in the fort

We are survivors of the war of good and evil

I’m in the hood, in the hood with a Desert Eagle

With my Brooklyn peoples, now feel it

Darkman, my persona’s like Tony Montana

How he used to sniff coke, how I puff marijuana

Try, play me today, I’mma kill you mañana

From, far with the K, or up close with the llama

I’m like an African king in a castle in Guana

Chest dripping with jewels, one hell of a rhymer

Study lessons in Athena, building with an old timer

So I, always been wise ever since a young minor

Get CREAM by any means, follow Malcolm X theme

So I’m often posted, in a rumor with that thing

Got a limited support from the Sing-Sing regime

I’m Hannibal Smith and they like the A-Team

Keep my head on the swivel, when I serve a dope fiend

Upgraded, to a digital, from a triple beam

Fucking with me, you better be real as you can be

La Trapacandi, a well known rhyme general

Who say Ras Kass don’t spit fire, he a liar

That’s like your favorite rap star claiming he gon' retire

When you mention me, not about penitentiary

Wins and rhyme skills, both twenty second century

Ahead of my time, school niggas like Timbuktu

Cause I’m original, like Black Falasha Jews

Velours by BUFU: Buy Us, Fuck you

Try us, fuck you

You die y’all got gats but him buck too, nigga

Sip the Grey Goose and ponder, then order room service

In Hotel Rwanda, reminder to honor these street scholars

Who ask why U.S. Defense is twenty percent of the tax dollar

Bush gave 6.46 billion to Halliburton

For troops support efforts in Iraq

Meanwhile, the hood is hurting, please believe that

The rape over, Chaney talking, twenty five dollars for a case of soda

Draining tax payers, eighty five thousand dollar oil filters

But won’t pay they soldiers, Halliburton workers make

Fourteen thousand dollars a month, privates earn thirteen g’s a year

Please who twenty-five extra, taking fire in combat

Recruit all the niggas, that die from where I’m at

18 years old, talking kill, where Saddam at

But can’t have a gat, to protect where my Mom’s at

I love to crunk, so what, plus I’m gangsta enough

To piss in Pimpin Ken’s, pimp cup, rack a gauge and pump it up

Hot bitches still get fucked, niggas just want a forty and a blunt

Yo, these youngsters they grow up on the block

With the product in they socks and the fully loaded Glocks

Too many die in vain, and it’s a crying shame

The murders and the hustles, won’t stop as they shoot for the top

Acquiring apparel, through growth and development

On they most dangerous missions, excuses were irrelevant

The brutality of war, never changes

And the out of control desire to win, makes it dangerous

Fire engulfed the set, they feel the threat, greater than

What they ever had, experienced yet

Indictments, sparked excitement, and the thrill to kill

Suddenly they felt the need for a challenge in they field

The great boundaries of both man and machine

Can have one at the point, to murder all in between

Yellow tape scene, dead teen, the mob was his idol

Giving a grim new meaning to the neighborhood’s title, what’s up