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Songs | Albums | Album Arts
Song: | Raw Is War |
Album: | Raw Is War | Genres: | |
Year: | | Length: | 224 sec |
Lyrics:
(Vinnie Paz) Yo.. It's Vinnie Paz baby my man Panik on the track! NAMEAN! NAMEAN! I'm bout to take yall to war. Teach yall how to rhyme. Check it out YO YO
(Verse 1) We heavenly divine, thats why we steadily shine And put a steel mic through a enemy spine My voice got power like if ten of me rhyme And gettin in my face means its weaponry time Look at you, studyin my every design Bangin this, listening to every rhyme Heavy rewind, Vinnie Paz'll fight vicious Yall easier to fuck with than white bitches We nice with this, yall better stand still Musta forget the fact Hologram ill I doubt yall, Vinnie Paz the outlaw Yall mafuckas is never right like southpaws Thats why I doubt yall, yall ain't raw Rippin you with a 45 caliber claw! You wanna see the last kid i battled before? Then check his fuckin brain where I splattered the wall
Hook (2x): RAW IS WAR! YALL BETTER PRAY FOR ARMAGEDDON! YALL SPILL BLOOD ON SLUGS FROM ALL WEAPONS! VINNIE PAZ! I'M LIKE THE LORD's RESURRECTION! IT'S ALL ENDING! SO BRING THE GOD WHEN I STEP IN!
(Verse 2) You're forced to fight, when I'm scorching the mic My source of light.. *holy* like the corpse of Christ You lost your life, and I'm the sorceror right? And Vinnie Paz rhyme have you lost in the light What? yall mafuckas think you flossin tonight? Gimme that! matter of fact, toss me your ice But still, my clique is too ill And yall? yall more bitch than Dru Hill The true skill that come through me Is from banging 'All Hell Freeze' by Cool C Yall dont move me, yall at war with the veteran With the digital trigger finger like the letterman The vendetta gram, I know where my heart's at I'm the better man, so dont start that When we bomb back.. BURN FUCKIN LEECHES Send you to hell to see more shells than beaches We elitists, we from Hamburger Hill Science and math combined with supreme skill The team ill, we send you to hell fast Your cream build, you buried in Belfast Ayo Panik! pass me the gin! 'cuz ain't too much muthafuckers rockin with Vin! Stomp him with tims, 'cuz I heard he hate hell The last thing that he saw? a .38 shell
*hook*
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