Duck Seazon - Explicit Version Lyrics
| Song | Duck Seazon - Explicit Version |
| Artist | Wu-Tang Clan |
| Album | Wu-Tang Forever (Explicit) |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作词 : Wu Tang Clan | |
| (Raekwon the Chef) | |
| Scrape y'all motherfuckers | |
| This is my word, when you see us | |
| When you see us flashing and shining | |
| And building and adding on | |
| Y'all niggaz just watch it, hear me | |
| Only ones that who we got respect for | |
| Is them niggaz that we say peace to | |
| Hear me, pay attention, put your shoes on | |
| Yo, my team be bellyaching hungry niggaz on the swarm again | |
| Pirahna niggaz bite dick, yo Son, it's on again | |
| What up, he made a move, try to assist it | |
| Listen kid yo, you was born to be a pawn but I'm a bishop | |
| Back to the novel, you Son, it's logical | |
| How you figure God, what, flow on the track, flip the obstacle | |
| Now my proposal, rips the global | |
| From California to courts, it's over God, so taste the soulful | |
| Remember baggy jeans, Timberlands in November | |
| Shorty called me Santa in December | |
| But guess what, my Wally's got messed up | |
| Autograph pressed what, blast enough to blow your rest up | |
| We scrape that, Land O' Lake that | |
| Mizola rapper get you sent back | |
| Represent the gentlemens who bent that | |
| Flash medallions like Italians | |
| La costra nostra, we moving through your hood like we supposed ta | |
| (Flex this) Lex and Diamonds hold the settlement | |
| So keep the bust the gun Boo | |
| Like that bad ass bitch in Dead Presidents | |
| Add on, the billboard sloan | |
| Check it now, you get the gold dick award | |
| It's like jail and it's the sixth floor | |
| Test me, floating in the S.E., now let's see | |
| Half of y'all niggaz built your rhyme from my sess tree | |
| Faggots, homos, yo, my flavor liver than a dobo | |
| Stay militant kid, push it like bolo | |
| You fucking idiot, playing with my Clan but you be fearing it | |
| Face one, I'm guaranteed to make you take one | |
| Please, y'all niggaz money getting low | |
| But did you come back, set up shop, and get the phat dough | |
| Tired of y'all, mostly inspired by y'all | |
| So what the deal now, blinking with us or put your shield down | |
| Faggot, fuck fuck around punk, (7:15) we battle for cream nigga | |
| (RZA) | |
| You want to pound crab, nah let his hand swing | |
| I ought to punch a hole in his palm with these pointy ass rings | |
| No more said, knew your chump ass was dead | |
| When I saw the four four reflecting off your shiny forehead | |
| It's Wu-Tang nigga, ain't nothing changed nigga | |
| Still shame on a nigga, who tried to run game | |
| Get virgin and perversions, fucking bitches with Persian | |
| Bugs watching niggaz like the turgeon, it's the surgeon slugs | |
| still pounds when Bobby Steels 12 gauge gonna pay deadly chronicles | |
| We, held up in Gotham take heed and protect your seeds | |
| We fall like all the leaves, who lack tranquility | |
| In your rap utility to fuck with the abilities | |
| Raised like a sperm cell to the ovary | |
| Microphone post tone like a rotary phone | |
| Age of poems and poetry, old sloans | |
| Explosive head bullets, black hooded | |
| Timbaland footed ninjas, who full metal jacket clips | |
| And know how to put it in you | |
| Surrender your goods and your merchandise | |
| For no purchase price, I'm certainly a heist | |
| For your ice and curtains and vice | |
| Come quietly, Wu-Tang Clan rules society | |
| Because of variety, so maintain your high anxiety | |
| And lead them to defy me, diary... | |
| I need 18 points for my next joint | |
| This high anointed king, to make a deal | |
| I be the one to appoint, Steve Ripken must have been sniffing | |
| To catch something so dope, it left Monica Lynch's pussy dripping | |
| I fuck hundreds of bitches, and split millions of dollars | |
| And built with thousands of scholars | |
| My life saga from the hill to the harbor | |
| Legal kid brown in Nicaragua | |
| Gave birth to MC's, theives and bank robbers | |
| We drove with pistol whips into world-wide trips | |
| And my dick's been sucked by the finest lips | |
| Stand to tell the contestants, in the world's best repressment | |
| But none of the above compare to the one-twenty lessons | |
| Or my queen and my seeds, in the home that I rest in | |
| Enter my zone get blown to 99 sections | |
| (Method Man) | |
| This rhyme has no limitations, this time there's no hesitation | |
| Collecting minds at the door, you want it niggaz it's yours | |
| The flavors raw, what the fuck you think I'm flowing for | |
| It's rhyme and reason, bite the bullet | |
| Niggaz is foul in this duck season | |
| We add odds till we even motherfucker | |
| Bad asses, high times, lower classes | |
| Taste mine, straight shots in dirty glasses | |
| Bring it to him, room service, under pressure | |
| And mad nervous, waving guns at the clergy | |
| Ticallion, we ain't worried | |
| Keep them sick niggaz seven-thirty | |
| Picture this, watch the birdy | |
| This bastards is rolling dirty | |
| With sharp pins that be stabbing you | |
| Pins and needles, needles and pins | |
| Nuff said, dick in your mouth | |
| Like pimp was bled, as I race track with thoroughbreds | |
| Ducking the feds | |
| (Raekwon the Chef) | |
| Yo, my ice slow fly up on the keyboard son | |
| Niggaz ran up on me law, praising what we do by the lords | |
| That's right, exile the fake, hit them niggaz like weight | |
| Feed a fool, let the fake evaporate | |
| Reconstruction, that's the whole science of mine | |
| Production, ya'll niggas guess who stuck son | |
| Left his nuts son, switch, finger itch | |
| Staring at you like a bitch, maybe y'all niggaz snitch | |
| You'se a loner, Adidas shell top while I... | |
| sipping Corona, read the rev report then bone her | |
| Buy you some jewels, here's some food | |
| Not neccessarily mean to be rude boo, check out the analoo | |
| We in the mushrooms, chased the high neck in the custom | |
| Baggy jeans, thick ropes god, sliding through customs | |
| Chill, y'all niggaz know what time it is | |
| James Bond Beamers behind me, on Bacardi Lime and | |
| check out the pitch like Nolan Ryan | |
| He caught a slug for lying | |
| Yeah you was lying, where's the cash, crying | |
| Militia, rolling in position | |
| Casa Blanca Cuban Link Christian | |
| Lex the tally back whistling, fake fucks |
| zuo ci : Wu Tang Clan | |
| Raekwon the Chef | |
| Scrape y' all motherfuckers | |
| This is my word, when you see us | |
| When you see us flashing and shining | |
| And building and adding on | |
| Y' all niggaz just watch it, hear me | |
| Only ones that who we got respect for | |
| Is them niggaz that we say peace to | |
| Hear me, pay attention, put your shoes on | |
| Yo, my team be bellyaching hungry niggaz on the swarm again | |
| Pirahna niggaz bite dick, yo Son, it' s on again | |
| What up, he made a move, try to assist it | |
| Listen kid yo, you was born to be a pawn but I' m a bishop | |
| Back to the novel, you Son, it' s logical | |
| How you figure God, what, flow on the track, flip the obstacle | |
| Now my proposal, rips the global | |
| From California to courts, it' s over God, so taste the soulful | |
| Remember baggy jeans, Timberlands in November | |
| Shorty called me Santa in December | |
| But guess what, my Wally' s got messed up | |
| Autograph pressed what, blast enough to blow your rest up | |
| We scrape that, Land O' Lake that | |
| Mizola rapper get you sent back | |
| Represent the gentlemens who bent that | |
| Flash medallions like Italians | |
| La costra nostra, we moving through your hood like we supposed ta | |
| Flex this Lex and Diamonds hold the settlement | |
| So keep the bust the gun Boo | |
| Like that bad ass bitch in Dead Presidents | |
| Add on, the billboard sloan | |
| Check it now, you get the gold dick award | |
| It' s like jail and it' s the sixth floor | |
| Test me, floating in the S. E., now let' s see | |
| Half of y' all niggaz built your rhyme from my sess tree | |
| Faggots, homos, yo, my flavor liver than a dobo | |
| Stay militant kid, push it like bolo | |
| You fucking idiot, playing with my Clan but you be fearing it | |
| Face one, I' m guaranteed to make you take one | |
| Please, y' all niggaz money getting low | |
| But did you come back, set up shop, and get the phat dough | |
| Tired of y' all, mostly inspired by y' all | |
| So what the deal now, blinking with us or put your shield down | |
| Faggot, fuck fuck around punk, 7: 15 we battle for cream nigga | |
| RZA | |
| You want to pound crab, nah let his hand swing | |
| I ought to punch a hole in his palm with these pointy ass rings | |
| No more said, knew your chump ass was dead | |
| When I saw the four four reflecting off your shiny forehead | |
| It' s WuTang nigga, ain' t nothing changed nigga | |
| Still shame on a nigga, who tried to run game | |
| Get virgin and perversions, fucking bitches with Persian | |
| Bugs watching niggaz like the turgeon, it' s the surgeon slugs | |
| still pounds when Bobby Steels 12 gauge gonna pay deadly chronicles | |
| We, held up in Gotham take heed and protect your seeds | |
| We fall like all the leaves, who lack tranquility | |
| In your rap utility to fuck with the abilities | |
| Raised like a sperm cell to the ovary | |
| Microphone post tone like a rotary phone | |
| Age of poems and poetry, old sloans | |
| Explosive head bullets, black hooded | |
| Timbaland footed ninjas, who full metal jacket clips | |
| And know how to put it in you | |
| Surrender your goods and your merchandise | |
| For no purchase price, I' m certainly a heist | |
| For your ice and curtains and vice | |
| Come quietly, WuTang Clan rules society | |
| Because of variety, so maintain your high anxiety | |
| And lead them to defy me, diary... | |
| I need 18 points for my next joint | |
| This high anointed king, to make a deal | |
| I be the one to appoint, Steve Ripken must have been sniffing | |
| To catch something so dope, it left Monica Lynch' s pussy dripping | |
| I fuck hundreds of bitches, and split millions of dollars | |
| And built with thousands of scholars | |
| My life saga from the hill to the harbor | |
| Legal kid brown in Nicaragua | |
| Gave birth to MC' s, theives and bank robbers | |
| We drove with pistol whips into worldwide trips | |
| And my dick' s been sucked by the finest lips | |
| Stand to tell the contestants, in the world' s best repressment | |
| But none of the above compare to the onetwenty lessons | |
| Or my queen and my seeds, in the home that I rest in | |
| Enter my zone get blown to 99 sections | |
| Method Man | |
| This rhyme has no limitations, this time there' s no hesitation | |
| Collecting minds at the door, you want it niggaz it' s yours | |
| The flavors raw, what the fuck you think I' m flowing for | |
| It' s rhyme and reason, bite the bullet | |
| Niggaz is foul in this duck season | |
| We add odds till we even motherfucker | |
| Bad asses, high times, lower classes | |
| Taste mine, straight shots in dirty glasses | |
| Bring it to him, room service, under pressure | |
| And mad nervous, waving guns at the clergy | |
| Ticallion, we ain' t worried | |
| Keep them sick niggaz seventhirty | |
| Picture this, watch the birdy | |
| This bastards is rolling dirty | |
| With sharp pins that be stabbing you | |
| Pins and needles, needles and pins | |
| Nuff said, dick in your mouth | |
| Like pimp was bled, as I race track with thoroughbreds | |
| Ducking the feds | |
| Raekwon the Chef | |
| Yo, my ice slow fly up on the keyboard son | |
| Niggaz ran up on me law, praising what we do by the lords | |
| That' s right, exile the fake, hit them niggaz like weight | |
| Feed a fool, let the fake evaporate | |
| Reconstruction, that' s the whole science of mine | |
| Production, ya' ll niggas guess who stuck son | |
| Left his nuts son, switch, finger itch | |
| Staring at you like a bitch, maybe y' all niggaz snitch | |
| You' se a loner, Adidas shell top while I... | |
| sipping Corona, read the rev report then bone her | |
| Buy you some jewels, here' s some food | |
| Not neccessarily mean to be rude boo, check out the analoo | |
| We in the mushrooms, chased the high neck in the custom | |
| Baggy jeans, thick ropes god, sliding through customs | |
| Chill, y' all niggaz know what time it is | |
| James Bond Beamers behind me, on Bacardi Lime and | |
| check out the pitch like Nolan Ryan | |
| He caught a slug for lying | |
| Yeah you was lying, where' s the cash, crying | |
| Militia, rolling in position | |
| Casa Blanca Cuban Link Christian | |
| Lex the tally back whistling, fake fucks |
| zuò cí : Wu Tang Clan | |
| Raekwon the Chef | |
| Scrape y' all motherfuckers | |
| This is my word, when you see us | |
| When you see us flashing and shining | |
| And building and adding on | |
| Y' all niggaz just watch it, hear me | |
| Only ones that who we got respect for | |
| Is them niggaz that we say peace to | |
| Hear me, pay attention, put your shoes on | |
| Yo, my team be bellyaching hungry niggaz on the swarm again | |
| Pirahna niggaz bite dick, yo Son, it' s on again | |
| What up, he made a move, try to assist it | |
| Listen kid yo, you was born to be a pawn but I' m a bishop | |
| Back to the novel, you Son, it' s logical | |
| How you figure God, what, flow on the track, flip the obstacle | |
| Now my proposal, rips the global | |
| From California to courts, it' s over God, so taste the soulful | |
| Remember baggy jeans, Timberlands in November | |
| Shorty called me Santa in December | |
| But guess what, my Wally' s got messed up | |
| Autograph pressed what, blast enough to blow your rest up | |
| We scrape that, Land O' Lake that | |
| Mizola rapper get you sent back | |
| Represent the gentlemens who bent that | |
| Flash medallions like Italians | |
| La costra nostra, we moving through your hood like we supposed ta | |
| Flex this Lex and Diamonds hold the settlement | |
| So keep the bust the gun Boo | |
| Like that bad ass bitch in Dead Presidents | |
| Add on, the billboard sloan | |
| Check it now, you get the gold dick award | |
| It' s like jail and it' s the sixth floor | |
| Test me, floating in the S. E., now let' s see | |
| Half of y' all niggaz built your rhyme from my sess tree | |
| Faggots, homos, yo, my flavor liver than a dobo | |
| Stay militant kid, push it like bolo | |
| You fucking idiot, playing with my Clan but you be fearing it | |
| Face one, I' m guaranteed to make you take one | |
| Please, y' all niggaz money getting low | |
| But did you come back, set up shop, and get the phat dough | |
| Tired of y' all, mostly inspired by y' all | |
| So what the deal now, blinking with us or put your shield down | |
| Faggot, fuck fuck around punk, 7: 15 we battle for cream nigga | |
| RZA | |
| You want to pound crab, nah let his hand swing | |
| I ought to punch a hole in his palm with these pointy ass rings | |
| No more said, knew your chump ass was dead | |
| When I saw the four four reflecting off your shiny forehead | |
| It' s WuTang nigga, ain' t nothing changed nigga | |
| Still shame on a nigga, who tried to run game | |
| Get virgin and perversions, fucking bitches with Persian | |
| Bugs watching niggaz like the turgeon, it' s the surgeon slugs | |
| still pounds when Bobby Steels 12 gauge gonna pay deadly chronicles | |
| We, held up in Gotham take heed and protect your seeds | |
| We fall like all the leaves, who lack tranquility | |
| In your rap utility to fuck with the abilities | |
| Raised like a sperm cell to the ovary | |
| Microphone post tone like a rotary phone | |
| Age of poems and poetry, old sloans | |
| Explosive head bullets, black hooded | |
| Timbaland footed ninjas, who full metal jacket clips | |
| And know how to put it in you | |
| Surrender your goods and your merchandise | |
| For no purchase price, I' m certainly a heist | |
| For your ice and curtains and vice | |
| Come quietly, WuTang Clan rules society | |
| Because of variety, so maintain your high anxiety | |
| And lead them to defy me, diary... | |
| I need 18 points for my next joint | |
| This high anointed king, to make a deal | |
| I be the one to appoint, Steve Ripken must have been sniffing | |
| To catch something so dope, it left Monica Lynch' s pussy dripping | |
| I fuck hundreds of bitches, and split millions of dollars | |
| And built with thousands of scholars | |
| My life saga from the hill to the harbor | |
| Legal kid brown in Nicaragua | |
| Gave birth to MC' s, theives and bank robbers | |
| We drove with pistol whips into worldwide trips | |
| And my dick' s been sucked by the finest lips | |
| Stand to tell the contestants, in the world' s best repressment | |
| But none of the above compare to the onetwenty lessons | |
| Or my queen and my seeds, in the home that I rest in | |
| Enter my zone get blown to 99 sections | |
| Method Man | |
| This rhyme has no limitations, this time there' s no hesitation | |
| Collecting minds at the door, you want it niggaz it' s yours | |
| The flavors raw, what the fuck you think I' m flowing for | |
| It' s rhyme and reason, bite the bullet | |
| Niggaz is foul in this duck season | |
| We add odds till we even motherfucker | |
| Bad asses, high times, lower classes | |
| Taste mine, straight shots in dirty glasses | |
| Bring it to him, room service, under pressure | |
| And mad nervous, waving guns at the clergy | |
| Ticallion, we ain' t worried | |
| Keep them sick niggaz seventhirty | |
| Picture this, watch the birdy | |
| This bastards is rolling dirty | |
| With sharp pins that be stabbing you | |
| Pins and needles, needles and pins | |
| Nuff said, dick in your mouth | |
| Like pimp was bled, as I race track with thoroughbreds | |
| Ducking the feds | |
| Raekwon the Chef | |
| Yo, my ice slow fly up on the keyboard son | |
| Niggaz ran up on me law, praising what we do by the lords | |
| That' s right, exile the fake, hit them niggaz like weight | |
| Feed a fool, let the fake evaporate | |
| Reconstruction, that' s the whole science of mine | |
| Production, ya' ll niggas guess who stuck son | |
| Left his nuts son, switch, finger itch | |
| Staring at you like a bitch, maybe y' all niggaz snitch | |
| You' se a loner, Adidas shell top while I... | |
| sipping Corona, read the rev report then bone her | |
| Buy you some jewels, here' s some food | |
| Not neccessarily mean to be rude boo, check out the analoo | |
| We in the mushrooms, chased the high neck in the custom | |
| Baggy jeans, thick ropes god, sliding through customs | |
| Chill, y' all niggaz know what time it is | |
| James Bond Beamers behind me, on Bacardi Lime and | |
| check out the pitch like Nolan Ryan | |
| He caught a slug for lying | |
| Yeah you was lying, where' s the cash, crying | |
| Militia, rolling in position | |
| Casa Blanca Cuban Link Christian | |
| Lex the tally back whistling, fake fucks |
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