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Roar of the Lion (The Lion's Pit)
Wu‐Tang Clan & Mathematics
Popularity · Low
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🇬🇧 English · Original
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Lyrics
Original
Translation
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Fuck you talkin' 'bout?
Uh, uh-huh
Dawn, Mathematics, Killer Allen
Yeah, fuck all my enemies
Uh-huh, I catch you coming out the hallway again
I'ma smack rockets out of your jaw, nigga
Bang bang, you dead, nigga
Word up, that's my word, yo, stupid
Some hard shit for convicts getting messy in the mosh pit
Groupie chicks take hits off lead seven guitar picks
Talk shit, then I speak with an iron stick
Instincts that rely on quick, welcome to the lion's pit
Ears up in attack mode, there's strangers in these back roads
Think tank crack coats, lights out black hole
The power of words could run up in your stronghold
Easy access, now you staring down my gun hole
Gun hole, look at my son go
Distributing bundles, bundles that we living in the sun glow
Territorial rap beef will be our defeat
Follow critics on YouTubes, lose ability to eat
Open your eyes to a glorious view, so scenic, the chosen few
Witness the slow rise of the Wu-Tang Phoenix
Jars of lemongrass, enhanced bars you can repeat
16-bar melters, barbecue your headpiece
That's right, keep the gun concealed, I deal with the struggle real (real)
I seen addicts pursue the hidden, never touch a meal
For their bread dwell a bloodshed like a bucket spill
Seen 'em with bubbles on they grill, shit got cut with steel
Funeral ballot keys, my glimpse is a reality
That Queens criminal mentality be running wild on me
Juveniles in the lab like niggas doing alchemy
Ain't no in-betweens, it's executionist style for green
Real mechanic under that hood like a Valvoline
Drinkin' XR, hottie stacked at the driver's knee
Witness a balance over cheddar (cheddar)
Niggas laying weights for the system of weights, balances and measures (yeah)
Better invest in the vest for the pressure
Pictures on mirrors and niggas on whack
And soundin' on the dress and that's when he came here
Met up with treacherous endeavors
Where they got zipped up in pads and carry on the stretcher, NYC
Catfish in closed casket, decrepit buildings
Pissy mattress, we did back handstands
Triple backflip, slap box, knuckle checks, belt buckles and ass whips
They had a crush on Freaky KEKE, that boostin' ass bitch
Spicy sticky rice veggie spot from the roadie spot
Freeda had a fatty patty, her man had plenty guap
Benz with the Bimmer, Mia come up with the Kia
Used to walk around the corner so that nobody would see her
Red Stripes and Guinness Stout, stout curry balls, spin his pouch
Long line around the corner, nigga lookin' like it's In-N-Out
Indian hastin' black, reachin' for his heat
To cook the beef fire truckin' screechin'
Inner science runnin' down the street
Sexy signs will always have that baby mama drama
35 without a man, I call that baby mama karma
Karma, karma, chameleon Wu-Tang, it's for the children
We enter the frontier of your mind, explored like a pilgrim
Ghetto livin', burnt beans and greasy chicken
On the back of the milk box, it looks like Little TT is missing
A hard head makes a soft ass, splash splash, better learn
Study Sik-E-Susie out there, just to spread a churn
Nutty peanut with smoked dust, go out there beat his box
Walk the block, boxing shorts looking crazy, dengie socks
High as a kite, ready to fight with a loaded Glock
Sticky cotton mouth yelling "Yo, motherfuck the cops!"
God, forgive me if you think I'm weak
I've been through the fire, been through the rain
My soul gets all weary, and my flesh gets all weak
I'm just hotter than the other cheese, oh
God bless you, eh!