"Presidential MC" lyrics
(feat. Raekwon, RZA)
Yeah, uh, heheheh (That's shadowboxing!)
Yo...
It's that Blackout, spazzed out, G-string divas
Leave you assed out, passed out, it's cold
Pack your heat up, blow your back out
You bad mouth, make 'em all believers
Throwing rocks from a glass house, y'all ain't perfect either
See that cheeba and that hash out (garbage day tomorrow)
And I have yet to take that trash out, or emptied this cigar
RZA Ra, we amped, eh, Meth is on his job
It ain't nothing, like the French say, "Que sera sera"
So let's move on, until the day we laying in the casket
With them suits on, and I'm so cool that hell is only lukewarm
Been too strong, for too, long, I'll probably die
With my boots on, and on my way to cash a coochie coupon
You know I'm, proper, don't let them boys confuse you
The fact is Meth, I'm harder than bottles made by Yoo-Hoo
Wu-Tang, welcome to the House of Flying Daggers
Where the truth aim, flying out the mouth of flying rappers
There it is...
Now, ask yourself, is this for real, it can't be
My, nigga, if it ain't for real, it ain't me
I, elect myself as presidential MC
I, elect myself as presidential MC
Now, ask yourself, why is he so low key
Why, is niggas pimpin' when the game chose me
I, elect myself as presidential MC
I, elect myself as presidential MC
Yo, blew 'em and hit 'em, and he went into a spin cycle
Out blew his liver, a river flooded, what's happening
It's drugs we wanted, gloves buttered, thug coverage
This is Fila, white sneaker, Louis Vuitton luggage
I came, representative huddle, they all love you
That W, the legacy of little niggas muggin' you
The fuck, what's up with you, yo, you suck, nigga
Benches used to pluck niggas, we be on the roof, like "fuck you"
Them red beams is coming, losers, got to walk the plank
Users, with Uzis on 'em, you move, you getting spanked
Shank broilers banked, alcoholics ranked ballers
They should call us, I rock mad ice like a walrus
The lamesters decided to lure us, we was up in Freedomtown
Getting weeded, one Bentley tour bus, you might like the mack and explore dust
You can't fuck with all of us, one of us dropped, there's twenty more of us
Peel caps like tangerines, you shook/shake like tambourines
Then, jet from the set, in the all black Lamborghin'
Nobody seen me, bitch in a tiny red bikini
Niggas saw her, because they thought they saw a genie
Heidi Klum, pussy juicy, fat as a plum
Picture on the wall in jail, niggas jerk 'til they cum
God gargantuan, large, colossus, bombardment of darts
Make your squad, throw tantrums
Practice Kama Sutra on broads, pop bras
Leave birds with permanent scars, and shit like birthmarks
Digi bark back at dogs, snatch flies from frogs
Blow California chronic to despise the smog
This shit I been with biz in the clearing, pigs sharing
Got fresh, Wu-Wearing, motherfuckers not caring
Then move through your community, with diplomat immunity
Move to rep a two or G., shine like fine jewelry
The Shadow Sword... Shadow Sword...
Yo...
It's that Blackout, spazzed out, G-string divas
Leave you assed out, passed out, it's cold
Pack your heat up, blow your back out
You bad mouth, make 'em all believers
Throwing rocks from a glass house, y'all ain't perfect either
See that cheeba and that hash out (garbage day tomorrow)
And I have yet to take that trash out, or emptied this cigar
RZA Ra, we amped, eh, Meth is on his job
It ain't nothing, like the French say, "Que sera sera"
So let's move on, until the day we laying in the casket
With them suits on, and I'm so cool that hell is only lukewarm
Been too strong, for too, long, I'll probably die
With my boots on, and on my way to cash a coochie coupon
You know I'm, proper, don't let them boys confuse you
The fact is Meth, I'm harder than bottles made by Yoo-Hoo
Wu-Tang, welcome to the House of Flying Daggers
Where the truth aim, flying out the mouth of flying rappers
There it is...
Now, ask yourself, is this for real, it can't be
My, nigga, if it ain't for real, it ain't me
I, elect myself as presidential MC
I, elect myself as presidential MC
Now, ask yourself, why is he so low key
Why, is niggas pimpin' when the game chose me
I, elect myself as presidential MC
I, elect myself as presidential MC
Yo, blew 'em and hit 'em, and he went into a spin cycle
Out blew his liver, a river flooded, what's happening
It's drugs we wanted, gloves buttered, thug coverage
This is Fila, white sneaker, Louis Vuitton luggage
I came, representative huddle, they all love you
That W, the legacy of little niggas muggin' you
The fuck, what's up with you, yo, you suck, nigga
Benches used to pluck niggas, we be on the roof, like "fuck you"
Them red beams is coming, losers, got to walk the plank
Users, with Uzis on 'em, you move, you getting spanked
Shank broilers banked, alcoholics ranked ballers
They should call us, I rock mad ice like a walrus
The lamesters decided to lure us, we was up in Freedomtown
Getting weeded, one Bentley tour bus, you might like the mack and explore dust
You can't fuck with all of us, one of us dropped, there's twenty more of us
Peel caps like tangerines, you shook/shake like tambourines
Then, jet from the set, in the all black Lamborghin'
Nobody seen me, bitch in a tiny red bikini
Niggas saw her, because they thought they saw a genie
Heidi Klum, pussy juicy, fat as a plum
Picture on the wall in jail, niggas jerk 'til they cum
God gargantuan, large, colossus, bombardment of darts
Make your squad, throw tantrums
Practice Kama Sutra on broads, pop bras
Leave birds with permanent scars, and shit like birthmarks
Digi bark back at dogs, snatch flies from frogs
Blow California chronic to despise the smog
This shit I been with biz in the clearing, pigs sharing
Got fresh, Wu-Wearing, motherfuckers not caring
Then move through your community, with diplomat immunity
Move to rep a two or G., shine like fine jewelry
The Shadow Sword... Shadow Sword...
Writer(s): Robert F. Diggs, Clifford Smith, Corey Woods
