Lyrics
Truth scholar, you holla up the few dollars
I work it overtime, whether white or blue collar
I prove my honor, cuz I been through the drama
Wu-Chronicles, and I continue the saga
Chart topper, rhyme tough as body armor
When I speak, I hold the globe like a Dalai Lama
The flow is aqua, pa, you swimmin' wit the known piranha
The soul father, get to know my whole persona
Like Shaquana, from Guyana, stay lace in cabana
For papa, she shake her tata’s like maracas
Fiend for the block opera, your top sponsor
Got you locked in the scope of the rocket launcher
Stop your offers, cop mine, I drop it monster
Let the rhyme inside your mind like chocolate ganja, it’s the worst
He, who writes the songs, he, who writes the songs (who got it, huh, who got it?
He, who writes the songs, he, who writes the songs (who got it, huh, who got it?
He, who writes the songs, he, who writes the songs (who got it, huh, who got it?
He, who writes the songs, he, who writes the songs, he.
I supply the fire, let your headsets be the bomb
One song, give you pipe dreams like Cheech & Chong
Got dough, cop and go, all else breeze along
Be strong, the high last four weeks long
Get your eat on, she’ll hold you til the fever is gone
Got you cold sweatin', and up creepin' til dawn
Wide eyed, off the side, no sleepin' on morn'
O.D.'ing, just the side effects, so, please be warned
Son, I raise your blood pressure like tight jeans and thongs
Guaranteed like throwin' the bomb to Keyshawn
Put your peeps on, I spice it up like Dijon
We be, ease to calm, to the streets we belong
Don’t be alarmed, cuz indeed the heat is on
So hot, to touch me, you need tweezers and tongs
If I breathe on the mic, it’s left weakened and torn
Til he gone, you’ll be leanin' like your sneakers are worn, off the worst
I got the works, like a Burger deluxe, you heard it was us
Got You All in Check like Dirty and Bust'
Play dirty and rough, remain thirsty for bucks
Seein' dollar signs like today’s the first of the month
Dunn, it hurts when I touch, flames burst off the verses I bust
Some wanna scuff, but ain’t worthy enough
What? I burn you up rookie, just hang your jersey up
I’m on the east side, workin' at a Mercury truck
Seen me servin' up the uncut, that certainly crush
Murderous, first to bust, expert in the clutch
That’s my word up, loose links, lurk in the cut
On the re-up, be sure to catch a third degree rush
Here’s your beat up, I keep the cut, verbally plush
Keep a burnin' Dutch, heat tucked and burgundy chucks
Won’t you turn it up, them wit the girlies, they lust
It’s the dopeman, my jams run your thirty and up, it’s the worst
