"Friction" lyrics
(feat. Masta Killa)
Is you ready?
Back by popular demand
Murderous specialist tactics
Wu-Tang Clan, no rehearsal or practice
Niggas ain't ready for this
Niggas ain't ready for this
Niggas ain't ready for this
Chrome dips beaming off July sunrays
Caesar fade blending with the sideburn shade
Cotton Club status, clientele, SL, heavy jewel
Niggas jail, young niggas school well
Swinging like Smokey on a slow beat
Johnny Walker hold me closely as I mosey on the low key
If you don't know me by now, you'll never know me
You know me, I swing it to the youngins and the OGs
Witnessed by notary public, certified rough shit
Does it feel good, how was it?
Gritty like the subway tracks
My protocol permanent like graffiti on the project walls
On the AWOL, alias Jamal Duval
Roam through the Universe, plans of owning it all
In the meantime, in between time, we shine
Dangerous minds travel on this uphill climb
If you want some, get some
This is it, son, this one, make 'em feel the friction
Guaranteed hit, son, miss none
Flip one, you better bring your big gun
Some niggas I'd rather not spar minds with
They can't stimulate my thoughts or fuck with
Creative testosterone, mic'phone
Calms the menopausable hormone quakage
Trapped like estrogen, we making all of the above
Supremely I hold my shit, men I rob
I hesitate to stomp the come
Bring water from the brain, nigga
They tried to send me back, but still I came
Terraform mind frame contains
Elements of iron which begat steel, healing men life
Allah Just brought me forth to bust mine
This time I spare no one
Poison sword seed technique, breathe the Earth
Take the head of those and fade into the Universe
Blessed with volts of electric life-threatening segments, it's hectic
If you want some, get some
This is it, son, this one, make 'em feel the friction
Guaranteed hit, son, miss none
Flip one, you better bring your big gun
Poetry in motion, east to west coasting
Overseas blowing with lines tightly woven
Still going full speed, pulling G's
Tryna eat 'til my mouth gets too full to feed
I excel, cast spells similar to Merlin
Mic surgeon, hang like Dr. J. Erving
Splurge inner city like uncensored version
Merging with the fast lane, stained with the urban
Word in the streets, his work was dirt cheap
Synthetically weak, make the fans start beef
Any comeback attempts would only be a repeat
They soon fall off, be mentally lost beyond reach
My technique's heat leave a permanent crease
Plant my two feet, shooting with the quick release
Never cease fire from a Streetcar Desire
The sire, disturbing the peace with c-ciphers
Who dare comes amongst and tries to peep it
The secret of the deadly art, then leak it
Snakes, leeches surround the righteous
I lick a diversion shot
Then slip with the swiftness to weave a raindrop
Leaving the eye confused, understanding blurred
Cloudy electrical storms occur
From the Masta, classical head-bang slang
The death toll rises like the blind and dumb
Licking shots at the microphone, Iron Lung
We the first to set off shit, last to run
Who want some, come and get some, motherfucker!
If you want some, get some
This is it, son, this one, make 'em feel the friction
Guaranteed hit, son, miss none
Flip one, you better bring your big guns
Back by popular demand
Murderous specialist tactics
Wu-Tang Clan, no rehearsal or practice
Niggas ain't ready for this
Niggas ain't ready for this
Niggas ain't ready for this
Chrome dips beaming off July sunrays
Caesar fade blending with the sideburn shade
Cotton Club status, clientele, SL, heavy jewel
Niggas jail, young niggas school well
Swinging like Smokey on a slow beat
Johnny Walker hold me closely as I mosey on the low key
If you don't know me by now, you'll never know me
You know me, I swing it to the youngins and the OGs
Witnessed by notary public, certified rough shit
Does it feel good, how was it?
Gritty like the subway tracks
My protocol permanent like graffiti on the project walls
On the AWOL, alias Jamal Duval
Roam through the Universe, plans of owning it all
In the meantime, in between time, we shine
Dangerous minds travel on this uphill climb
If you want some, get some
This is it, son, this one, make 'em feel the friction
Guaranteed hit, son, miss none
Flip one, you better bring your big gun
Some niggas I'd rather not spar minds with
They can't stimulate my thoughts or fuck with
Creative testosterone, mic'phone
Calms the menopausable hormone quakage
Trapped like estrogen, we making all of the above
Supremely I hold my shit, men I rob
I hesitate to stomp the come
Bring water from the brain, nigga
They tried to send me back, but still I came
Terraform mind frame contains
Elements of iron which begat steel, healing men life
Allah Just brought me forth to bust mine
This time I spare no one
Poison sword seed technique, breathe the Earth
Take the head of those and fade into the Universe
Blessed with volts of electric life-threatening segments, it's hectic
If you want some, get some
This is it, son, this one, make 'em feel the friction
Guaranteed hit, son, miss none
Flip one, you better bring your big gun
Poetry in motion, east to west coasting
Overseas blowing with lines tightly woven
Still going full speed, pulling G's
Tryna eat 'til my mouth gets too full to feed
I excel, cast spells similar to Merlin
Mic surgeon, hang like Dr. J. Erving
Splurge inner city like uncensored version
Merging with the fast lane, stained with the urban
Word in the streets, his work was dirt cheap
Synthetically weak, make the fans start beef
Any comeback attempts would only be a repeat
They soon fall off, be mentally lost beyond reach
My technique's heat leave a permanent crease
Plant my two feet, shooting with the quick release
Never cease fire from a Streetcar Desire
The sire, disturbing the peace with c-ciphers
Who dare comes amongst and tries to peep it
The secret of the deadly art, then leak it
Snakes, leeches surround the righteous
I lick a diversion shot
Then slip with the swiftness to weave a raindrop
Leaving the eye confused, understanding blurred
Cloudy electrical storms occur
From the Masta, classical head-bang slang
The death toll rises like the blind and dumb
Licking shots at the microphone, Iron Lung
We the first to set off shit, last to run
Who want some, come and get some, motherfucker!
If you want some, get some
This is it, son, this one, make 'em feel the friction
Guaranteed hit, son, miss none
Flip one, you better bring your big guns
