Tar Pit Lyrics - Cappadonna

(feat. Cappadonna, George Clinton, Streetlife) 

[Hook: Method Man (George Clinton)] 

Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (Eastside, Westside) 

Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (Eastside, Westside) 

Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (Eastside, Westside) 

Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (Eastside, Westside) 

Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (1-2-3-4) 

[U-God] 

Blood money mercenaries, think you can muscle Wu? 

It's a foot race, who can out-hustle who? 

Hip hop junkie flunky, monkey see, monkey do 

Great minds connect like mobster rings 

Sit back, let me do my, Sinatra thing 

I'm in the Hip Hop Hall of Fame, on the wall is the plaques 

Old ball and chain, I named her Madam X 

She love big cannons, sex unprotected 

You better respect it, kid, we 'bout to set trip 

You get ya neck ripped, eyeballs are scoping 

I don't sell crack, I sell dopium 

Catch him at the podium, nah, he moving too fast 

Professor X, behind the bulletproof glass 

You need a Wu pass, a bag of that high 

Easy with the flicks, baby, I'm camera shy 

Related 

18 Non-Traditional Yet Perfect Wedding Songs 

Refresh Your Christmas Playlist With These 10 Modern Holiday Tracks 

20 Classic Christmas Lyrics to Celebrate The Holiday Season 

[Hook: Method Man (George Clinton)] 

Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (1-2-3-4) 

[Cappadonna] 

We might have to 8 Diagram one of y'all MC's 

We grind everyday and we hustle for cheese 

Got our face on the front of CD's, we off the hook 

W.T.C. y'all soft and shook 

Y'all not built like the Cuban Linx Clan that get CREAM 

And back heads down every time we sing 

Give us a hundred grand for a show, let us rock 

For more money, more chicks, more private stock 

Photos 

[Streetlife] 

They call me Streetlife, slap the taste 

Out ya mug, know ya place, you ain't thug, fix ya face 

Throw a slug, catch a case 

Meanwhile, beat trial, back on that cash cow 

Getting CREAM, however, a street brother know how 

Point blank, I'm pulling rank, calling shot, I got bank 

Pass the rock, my hand's hot, hit 'em with the showshotter 

Peace to my ala mater, Wu-Tang block scholars 

Never settle for less, promoters pay us top dollar 

[Hook: Method Man (George Clinton)] 

Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (Eastside, Westside) 

Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (Eastside, Westside) 

Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (Eastside, Westside) 

Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (Eastside, Westside) 

Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (Eastside, Westside) 

Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (Eastside, Westside) 

Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (Eastside, Westside) 

Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (Eastside, Westside) 

Get that money, God, keep your sword sharp (1-2-3-4) 

[Outro: George Clinton] 

The Clan'll talk, Calabama niggaz all'll quit 

Talking that short dick shit, we was s'posed to be cool 

Only the clue's on the other end of the stick 

Somebody let the monkeys out the cage 

Over-crowded police blood bamboo bimbo 

Chickenhead skeezer crackrock hoodrat 

Somebody let the monkeys out the cage 

Barney here is down to a feeding dreadlock 

Armpit like two Buckwheat's in a headlock 

Macy Gray's hair between your leg lock 

Somebody let the monkeys out the cage 

Ya mother's so cross-eyed, when she cry tears roll down her back 

Somebody let the monkeys out the cage 

Somebody let the monkeys out the cage 

[coughs] This shit is strong, god damn, what you got in there? 

Over-crowded police blood bamboo bimbo 

Chickenhead skeezer crackhead hoodrat 

Somebody let the monkeys out the cage 

Ya mother's so cross-eyed, when she cry tears roll down her back 

Calabama niggaz all'll quit 

Talking that short dick shit 

Speak up, no loud speaker but I'm speaking loud 

Venacular ass kicking, truth got there in crowd 

Shit, they call me the lethal lip 

The linguistic, full metal jacket of venacular ballistic 

Shooting out at the mouth without Chap or Blistec 

Here's a mothafucka, I didn't flunk diaper rash 

I'm verbally toxic, metal-piercing, forked, hollow point tongue 

Dum dum, pow, shot from gattling gums 

Hooked on phonics, packing a vicious vocabulary 

Malicious, with malice and mayhem 

Fuck a dictionary, give me the mic and I'll slay 

Them and literally poetic symptoms 

Pissing me the fuck off, missing me with that shit 

I stick a venacular foot so far up in ya ass 

You won't be able to pass verbal gas 

So far in ya ass that one of my knees will rise so far above ya head 

And you drown of a poetic ass kicking 

Leaving lyrical lacerations on your lungs, from a verbal hangnail 

That hung on my big toe, as I flow upward 

Kicking yo on ya eardrum, you wanna hear some? 

Tap dance on ya tonsils, leaving kiwi shoe polish on ya breath 

Cavity in ya best rhyme, and I'm the access on the rest 

Call me the proverbial verbal menacing dentist 

With the drill, I got lyrical skills 

I could perform oral root canals 

It's unwise to fuck with me 

Kick ya wisdom teeth down ya throat 

Leaving you to choke 

On where it hurts, unspoken vocals 

Tying down ya vocal cord and windpipe tight 

With toe jamming and ya mothafucking hemmoroids 

Fuck the dumb shit...