Guard Ya Shrine Lyrics
| Song | Guard Ya Shrine |
| Artist | Gravediggaz |
| Album | Nightmare in A-Minor |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作词 : Berkeley, Hamilton | |
| Yeah, comin through the mist of the dust | |
| Of a hundred thousand wild stallions | |
| On a dirt road | |
| Another episode of the Gravediggaz saga | |
| Yo | |
| You came to assassinate me | |
| I got degrees that evaporate seas | |
| I got thoughts that decapitate enemies | |
| While your thoughts couldn't fascinate fleas | |
| See I manipulate keys in a vocal joint | |
| That alter your focal point, fuckin snake | |
| I annoit by will, to kill you savage emcees | |
| Then watch your cabbages bleed | |
| You're weak and you're wicked | |
| Diseased with a sickness, that turn Gods into swine | |
| My mind detects blind ambition | |
| A fine musician slash crooked politician | |
| Trapped in a black hole, cuz ya lack soul | |
| Gravity chokes ya black soul like a lasso | |
| Your condition is a walking dead man | |
| +Wake+ the fuck +Up+ or get your head banged | |
| I'm the soldier with the bloody red hands | |
| These ghetto alleys become dead valleys | |
| Snakes too shook to show up at your rally | |
| Some paralysed by the thought of bein analyzed and caught up in lies | |
| In false hood, it ain't all good, in New York, if you don't walk the walk | |
| I dare fuckin parasites to grab a mic | |
| The Grym brings Fahrenheit, and blinding light | |
| You are not my competition, you non-living treacherous pig | |
| I'll have you submit....yo | |
| [Chorus x2: Poetic] | |
| You're feeble and you play black, guard ya shrine | |
| I'm a needle in a hay-stack, hard to find | |
| I'm evil when you slay black God for crime | |
| I'm evil and I stay strapped far as the rhyme |
| zuo ci : Berkeley, Hamilton | |
| Yeah, comin through the mist of the dust | |
| Of a hundred thousand wild stallions | |
| On a dirt road | |
| Another episode of the Gravediggaz saga | |
| Yo | |
| You came to assassinate me | |
| I got degrees that evaporate seas | |
| I got thoughts that decapitate enemies | |
| While your thoughts couldn' t fascinate fleas | |
| See I manipulate keys in a vocal joint | |
| That alter your focal point, fuckin snake | |
| I annoit by will, to kill you savage emcees | |
| Then watch your cabbages bleed | |
| You' re weak and you' re wicked | |
| Diseased with a sickness, that turn Gods into swine | |
| My mind detects blind ambition | |
| A fine musician slash crooked politician | |
| Trapped in a black hole, cuz ya lack soul | |
| Gravity chokes ya black soul like a lasso | |
| Your condition is a walking dead man | |
| Wake the fuck Up or get your head banged | |
| I' m the soldier with the bloody red hands | |
| These ghetto alleys become dead valleys | |
| Snakes too shook to show up at your rally | |
| Some paralysed by the thought of bein analyzed and caught up in lies | |
| In false hood, it ain' t all good, in New York, if you don' t walk the walk | |
| I dare fuckin parasites to grab a mic | |
| The Grym brings Fahrenheit, and blinding light | |
| You are not my competition, you nonliving treacherous pig | |
| I' ll have you submit.... yo | |
| Chorus x2: Poetic | |
| You' re feeble and you play black, guard ya shrine | |
| I' m a needle in a haystack, hard to find | |
| I' m evil when you slay black God for crime | |
| I' m evil and I stay strapped far as the rhyme |
| zuò cí : Berkeley, Hamilton | |
| Yeah, comin through the mist of the dust | |
| Of a hundred thousand wild stallions | |
| On a dirt road | |
| Another episode of the Gravediggaz saga | |
| Yo | |
| You came to assassinate me | |
| I got degrees that evaporate seas | |
| I got thoughts that decapitate enemies | |
| While your thoughts couldn' t fascinate fleas | |
| See I manipulate keys in a vocal joint | |
| That alter your focal point, fuckin snake | |
| I annoit by will, to kill you savage emcees | |
| Then watch your cabbages bleed | |
| You' re weak and you' re wicked | |
| Diseased with a sickness, that turn Gods into swine | |
| My mind detects blind ambition | |
| A fine musician slash crooked politician | |
| Trapped in a black hole, cuz ya lack soul | |
| Gravity chokes ya black soul like a lasso | |
| Your condition is a walking dead man | |
| Wake the fuck Up or get your head banged | |
| I' m the soldier with the bloody red hands | |
| These ghetto alleys become dead valleys | |
| Snakes too shook to show up at your rally | |
| Some paralysed by the thought of bein analyzed and caught up in lies | |
| In false hood, it ain' t all good, in New York, if you don' t walk the walk | |
| I dare fuckin parasites to grab a mic | |
| The Grym brings Fahrenheit, and blinding light | |
| You are not my competition, you nonliving treacherous pig | |
| I' ll have you submit.... yo | |
| Chorus x2: Poetic | |
| You' re feeble and you play black, guard ya shrine | |
| I' m a needle in a haystack, hard to find | |
| I' m evil when you slay black God for crime | |
| I' m evil and I stay strapped far as the rhyme |
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