5 Fingas of Death Lyrics
| Song | 5 Fingas of Death |
| Artist | Diamond D |
| Album | Hatred, Passion & Infidelity |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作词 : Barnes, Cartegna, Coleman ... | |
| (feat. Big L, Lord Finesse, A.G., Fat Joe) | |
| "Where are you?" "Hey, there you are!" | |
| "How does it feel to know you only have a few more seconds to live?" | |
| [gunshot] | |
| [Cut and scratched] "Big L" | |
| [Big L] | |
| Check it, I stay jeweled up, pockets swelled up from banks I held up | |
| Plenty *******-ass ******s Big L stuck | |
| I never catch cold feet when I hold heat | |
| We roll deep, Triple Fat dogs in their old jeep | |
| I catch a fag three o'clock in the morn | |
| On the block all alone and put the glock to his dome | |
| Tell him "Give it up quick, you nitwit, don't try to get slick | |
| Or I'm a let this four-fifth spit and leave your *******t split" | |
| Grip, it ain't nothing decent about me | |
| A true thug for real, you can ask the precinct about me | |
| A rap junkie, don't try to play me like some flunky | |
| Jewels be chunky, pockets lumpy, attitude grumpy | |
| Mad ******s be fronting the life | |
| Popping mad *******t, trying to be something they not | |
| Your ****** ass better stay to dancing, don't even look at me | |
| I might break your jaw for glancing, that's right | |
| In '97 Harlem kids is blowing | |
| And we don't trip, we'll let a ******* starve til her ribs are showing | |
| [Cut and scratched] "Lord Finesse" | |
| [Lord Finesse] | |
| It's the divine mastermind, I turn nickels to dimes | |
| The authentic genuine that's out to *******ne | |
| The cool cat, the true mack, the smooth raps | |
| Chickens be like "Who's that?" I be doing my thing, kid (True dat) | |
| Forget fronting, I'm beyond that, I roll with brothers ready for combat | |
| All for eye-to-eye contact | |
| With skills, G, yo it's ill, see, for real, B | |
| Ain't no barbeque, ******s better stop trying to grill me | |
| Huh, sent that style to the essence | |
| Got ******s stressing my style, pull like fluoresence | |
| No question, tough type to clutch mics | |
| No positive upright, I'm the "I don't give a ******" type | |
| Expose the facts, you know the haps | |
| We go to laugh astrological, like the signs in the Zodiac | |
| To rap you, out the stack glue, word up | |
| My style's tighter than a fat ******* in a cat suit | |
| Suprise G, it's not wise see to size me | |
| When I operate, it's Smooth Sailing like Ron Isely | |
| Gotta do my thing, word up (Beg ya pardon?) | |
| Time to bounce, gotta skate like Tonya Harding | |
| [Cut and scratched] "A.G." | |
| [A.G.] | |
| Yo I'm the cleverest, top ten terrorist | |
| Chickens ever diss, they become featherless | |
| Hate derelicts, certified gold metalist | |
| You play fly cause I'm the most high like Everest | |
| Look at all these fakes, musically you imitate the crates | |
| Won't succeed moving at full speed with no breaks | |
| Like Jake, watch me take your entourage | |
| Can't see me, I'm camoflauge, and besides, I'm God | |
| Mad hard, like the S.A.T., have shorties | |
| Caught up in the mental, watch her bless A.G. | |
| Eveidently, you still don't know, because you tempt me | |
| Thought you was the boss when your fat thoughts were empty | |
| Not Fat Joey Crack, but still Jealous One's Envy | |
| Who sent me? D.I.T.C., good and plenty | |
| Like the doctor, smoke a Spike Joint and watch "Clockers" | |
| Get rude like Shabba, make moves behind my blockers | |
| Crazy sickness, you want the pure, you'd better pick this | |
| ******* can't get this, ******s remain ******less | |
| [Cut and scratched] "Fat Joe" | |
| [Fat Joe] | |
| Before we get started, let's talk about these coward-hearted MC's | |
| That claim to be true O.G.'s and war specialists | |
| Forever busting guns on the circus *******p | |
| But when the beef comes, get on the ??? | |
| You know the deal, I come with nothing but the real | |
| Certified pejente, recognize mi gente | |
| Whether East Coast or West Coast, I'll lick 'em all | |
| Strip naked, ******* ******s will never be respected | |
| Joey Green, bagging doubles up in Bowling Green | |
| For all my team, packing the nine, for soon as this team is rolling clean | |
| You know the team, never giving a ****** | |
| Playing thick in the cut, get your *******t laced up | |
| WHAT THE ******! | |
| [Cut and scratched] "Diamond D" | |
| [Diamond] | |
| Yo I'm flipping on ******s like Dre's and Cracks | |
| My raps react on your cardiac like a heart attack | |
| Some ******s front for stunts who want | |
| Take a puff of the blunt and play a ****** like a chump | |
| But I don't play that *******t for no chicks | |
| Sucking the next ******'s ******, moving ******s | |
| I'm too slick for you high school dropouts | |
| You got knocked and tried to cop out | |
| Couldn't fight when the kids pulled the mop out | |
| And wails you out, right at home saying "Bail me out" | |
| Little small time, ****** up when you called mines | |
| D *******d, one of the greatest of all time | |
| Yeah, D.I.T.C. representing for the '97, word life |
| zuo ci : Barnes, Cartegna, Coleman ... | |
| feat. Big L, Lord Finesse, A. G., Fat Joe | |
| " Where are you?" " Hey, there you are!" | |
| " How does it feel to know you only have a few more seconds to live?" | |
| gunshot | |
| Cut and scratched " Big L" | |
| Big L | |
| Check it, I stay jeweled up, pockets swelled up from banks I held up | |
| Plenty ass s Big L stuck | |
| I never catch cold feet when I hold heat | |
| We roll deep, Triple Fat dogs in their old jeep | |
| I catch a fag three o' clock in the morn | |
| On the block all alone and put the glock to his dome | |
| Tell him " Give it up quick, you nitwit, don' t try to get slick | |
| Or I' m a let this fourfifth spit and leave your t split" | |
| Grip, it ain' t nothing decent about me | |
| A true thug for real, you can ask the precinct about me | |
| A rap junkie, don' t try to play me like some flunky | |
| Jewels be chunky, pockets lumpy, attitude grumpy | |
| Mad s be fronting the life | |
| Popping mad t, trying to be something they not | |
| Your ass better stay to dancing, don' t even look at me | |
| I might break your jaw for glancing, that' s right | |
| In ' 97 Harlem kids is blowing | |
| And we don' t trip, we' ll let a starve til her ribs are showing | |
| Cut and scratched " Lord Finesse" | |
| Lord Finesse | |
| It' s the divine mastermind, I turn nickels to dimes | |
| The authentic genuine that' s out to ne | |
| The cool cat, the true mack, the smooth raps | |
| Chickens be like " Who' s that?" I be doing my thing, kid True dat | |
| Forget fronting, I' m beyond that, I roll with brothers ready for combat | |
| All for eyetoeye contact | |
| With skills, G, yo it' s ill, see, for real, B | |
| Ain' t no barbeque, s better stop trying to grill me | |
| Huh, sent that style to the essence | |
| Got s stressing my style, pull like fluoresence | |
| No question, tough type to clutch mics | |
| No positive upright, I' m the " I don' t give a " type | |
| Expose the facts, you know the haps | |
| We go to laugh astrological, like the signs in the Zodiac | |
| To rap you, out the stack glue, word up | |
| My style' s tighter than a fat in a cat suit | |
| Suprise G, it' s not wise see to size me | |
| When I operate, it' s Smooth Sailing like Ron Isely | |
| Gotta do my thing, word up Beg ya pardon? | |
| Time to bounce, gotta skate like Tonya Harding | |
| Cut and scratched " A. G." | |
| A. G. | |
| Yo I' m the cleverest, top ten terrorist | |
| Chickens ever diss, they become featherless | |
| Hate derelicts, certified gold metalist | |
| You play fly cause I' m the most high like Everest | |
| Look at all these fakes, musically you imitate the crates | |
| Won' t succeed moving at full speed with no breaks | |
| Like Jake, watch me take your entourage | |
| Can' t see me, I' m camoflauge, and besides, I' m God | |
| Mad hard, like the S. A. T., have shorties | |
| Caught up in the mental, watch her bless A. G. | |
| Eveidently, you still don' t know, because you tempt me | |
| Thought you was the boss when your fat thoughts were empty | |
| Not Fat Joey Crack, but still Jealous One' s Envy | |
| Who sent me? D. I. T. C., good and plenty | |
| Like the doctor, smoke a Spike Joint and watch " Clockers" | |
| Get rude like Shabba, make moves behind my blockers | |
| Crazy sickness, you want the pure, you' d better pick this | |
| can' t get this, s remain less | |
| Cut and scratched " Fat Joe" | |
| Fat Joe | |
| Before we get started, let' s talk about these cowardhearted MC' s | |
| That claim to be true O. G.' s and war specialists | |
| Forever busting guns on the circus p | |
| But when the beef comes, get on the nbsp??? | |
| You know the deal, I come with nothing but the real | |
| Certified pejente, recognize mi gente | |
| Whether East Coast or West Coast, I' ll lick ' em all | |
| Strip naked, s will never be respected | |
| Joey Green, bagging doubles up in Bowling Green | |
| For all my team, packing the nine, for soon as this team is rolling clean | |
| You know the team, never giving a | |
| Playing thick in the cut, get your t laced up | |
| WHAT THE ! | |
| Cut and scratched " Diamond D" | |
| Diamond | |
| Yo I' m flipping on s like Dre' s and Cracks | |
| My raps react on your cardiac like a heart attack | |
| Some s front for stunts who want | |
| Take a puff of the blunt and play a like a chump | |
| But I don' t play that t for no chicks | |
| Sucking the next ' s , moving s | |
| I' m too slick for you high school dropouts | |
| You got knocked and tried to cop out | |
| Couldn' t fight when the kids pulled the mop out | |
| And wails you out, right at home saying " Bail me out" | |
| Little small time, up when you called mines | |
| D d, one of the greatest of all time | |
| Yeah, D. I. T. C. representing for the ' 97, word life |
| zuò cí : Barnes, Cartegna, Coleman ... | |
| feat. Big L, Lord Finesse, A. G., Fat Joe | |
| " Where are you?" " Hey, there you are!" | |
| " How does it feel to know you only have a few more seconds to live?" | |
| gunshot | |
| Cut and scratched " Big L" | |
| Big L | |
| Check it, I stay jeweled up, pockets swelled up from banks I held up | |
| Plenty ass s Big L stuck | |
| I never catch cold feet when I hold heat | |
| We roll deep, Triple Fat dogs in their old jeep | |
| I catch a fag three o' clock in the morn | |
| On the block all alone and put the glock to his dome | |
| Tell him " Give it up quick, you nitwit, don' t try to get slick | |
| Or I' m a let this fourfifth spit and leave your t split" | |
| Grip, it ain' t nothing decent about me | |
| A true thug for real, you can ask the precinct about me | |
| A rap junkie, don' t try to play me like some flunky | |
| Jewels be chunky, pockets lumpy, attitude grumpy | |
| Mad s be fronting the life | |
| Popping mad t, trying to be something they not | |
| Your ass better stay to dancing, don' t even look at me | |
| I might break your jaw for glancing, that' s right | |
| In ' 97 Harlem kids is blowing | |
| And we don' t trip, we' ll let a starve til her ribs are showing | |
| Cut and scratched " Lord Finesse" | |
| Lord Finesse | |
| It' s the divine mastermind, I turn nickels to dimes | |
| The authentic genuine that' s out to ne | |
| The cool cat, the true mack, the smooth raps | |
| Chickens be like " Who' s that?" I be doing my thing, kid True dat | |
| Forget fronting, I' m beyond that, I roll with brothers ready for combat | |
| All for eyetoeye contact | |
| With skills, G, yo it' s ill, see, for real, B | |
| Ain' t no barbeque, s better stop trying to grill me | |
| Huh, sent that style to the essence | |
| Got s stressing my style, pull like fluoresence | |
| No question, tough type to clutch mics | |
| No positive upright, I' m the " I don' t give a " type | |
| Expose the facts, you know the haps | |
| We go to laugh astrological, like the signs in the Zodiac | |
| To rap you, out the stack glue, word up | |
| My style' s tighter than a fat in a cat suit | |
| Suprise G, it' s not wise see to size me | |
| When I operate, it' s Smooth Sailing like Ron Isely | |
| Gotta do my thing, word up Beg ya pardon? | |
| Time to bounce, gotta skate like Tonya Harding | |
| Cut and scratched " A. G." | |
| A. G. | |
| Yo I' m the cleverest, top ten terrorist | |
| Chickens ever diss, they become featherless | |
| Hate derelicts, certified gold metalist | |
| You play fly cause I' m the most high like Everest | |
| Look at all these fakes, musically you imitate the crates | |
| Won' t succeed moving at full speed with no breaks | |
| Like Jake, watch me take your entourage | |
| Can' t see me, I' m camoflauge, and besides, I' m God | |
| Mad hard, like the S. A. T., have shorties | |
| Caught up in the mental, watch her bless A. G. | |
| Eveidently, you still don' t know, because you tempt me | |
| Thought you was the boss when your fat thoughts were empty | |
| Not Fat Joey Crack, but still Jealous One' s Envy | |
| Who sent me? D. I. T. C., good and plenty | |
| Like the doctor, smoke a Spike Joint and watch " Clockers" | |
| Get rude like Shabba, make moves behind my blockers | |
| Crazy sickness, you want the pure, you' d better pick this | |
| can' t get this, s remain less | |
| Cut and scratched " Fat Joe" | |
| Fat Joe | |
| Before we get started, let' s talk about these cowardhearted MC' s | |
| That claim to be true O. G.' s and war specialists | |
| Forever busting guns on the circus p | |
| But when the beef comes, get on the nbsp??? | |
| You know the deal, I come with nothing but the real | |
| Certified pejente, recognize mi gente | |
| Whether East Coast or West Coast, I' ll lick ' em all | |
| Strip naked, s will never be respected | |
| Joey Green, bagging doubles up in Bowling Green | |
| For all my team, packing the nine, for soon as this team is rolling clean | |
| You know the team, never giving a | |
| Playing thick in the cut, get your t laced up | |
| WHAT THE ! | |
| Cut and scratched " Diamond D" | |
| Diamond | |
| Yo I' m flipping on s like Dre' s and Cracks | |
| My raps react on your cardiac like a heart attack | |
| Some s front for stunts who want | |
| Take a puff of the blunt and play a like a chump | |
| But I don' t play that t for no chicks | |
| Sucking the next ' s , moving s | |
| I' m too slick for you high school dropouts | |
| You got knocked and tried to cop out | |
| Couldn' t fight when the kids pulled the mop out | |
| And wails you out, right at home saying " Bail me out" | |
| Little small time, up when you called mines | |
| D d, one of the greatest of all time | |
| Yeah, D. I. T. C. representing for the ' 97, word life |
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