Wu-Tang Clan---Windpipe lyrics

Song Details
Artist(s)Belly soundtrack

Yo Yo Yo doodododododo Yo pssh yo
Yo park the Jeep on the street of the Sunset Marquis
Autograph sign and pass wit a gold tip sharpee
Permanent ink blots, I'm drunk on Red Label scotch
All you faggots try to judge my shit like Ed Koch
Underground left and right pair surround sound can't be scared
Plea the amps, video tape, steady cam
Golden chrome, desert eagle never left at home
Flip the track of the beat, watch Bobby flip the metronome
High voltage, keep my seed and wiz well-cultured
Peal enemies, my melon dim, the poison blue postage
I open and fold ya, Dirty fucked the ogre
I leave the cats the book of food stamps and that poga
The box of evil, a fifty sack of that lethal
Adjust these boots and bloody cube steaks from keebu

[Chorus 4X: Ol' Dirty Bastard]
What party can you go to
And I ain't there you bitches actin like you don't care

You bitches actin like you dont care
You bitches actin like you YO
Razor blade toenails cut holes inside tube socks
Golden platinum things unstainable, I chew rocks
Cybertech digital suit deflect bullets
Black hooded surrounded by forty acres of wooded
Land, like my cousin dusty dirty ass Dan
Fucked the daughter of the leader of the Ku Klux Klan
Tapes we dub, pound you wit the ace of club
Poppin your tree to a shrub
Tongue kiss a lion and kidnap her cub
Passionate portrait, my biz spread eagle, wild orchid
Pussy so wet you could fuck it wit a soft tipped dick
Tickle the tonsil you could hear her coughin
I don't know if Dirt fucked Mariah, but I'm out to fuck Tyra
Starks might fuck Mya

[Break: Ol' Dirty Bastard over RZA doodododododo ing]
I'm the pussy vampire
I don't wanna work no more
I want my own alibi


[Ghostface Killah]
Yo I'm bent out three days two nights yo I'm spent out
One hell of a cruise New York got they hand out
Like I owe somethin, check they stance they frontin
I'm two seconds from twistin y'all shit over nuttin
All a sudden ice grills kid you did a baby bid
In the mix, almost hung yourself, slit ya wrists
To the maximum, hand me the forty I'll thrash 'em
Split out, guess who gassed 'em, made Ghost throw his mask on
Trauma the block pro, bar sledge slang ho
Runnin from two-inch soles, some rap and I might blow
World Cup, some been blessed wit the Stanley
Yvonne lend you autographed racket wit the hankey
Sideline manuever, polished wack MC remover
Niggaz wit long nails cuttin me, leavin bruises
Cantelopes, tied a thousand on y'all folks
Came home, this dusthead dude tryin to play me close
Sweepin, peep fears, Liz wants to chop in this kid
I might do magic make him disappear
Rear-rose that nigga, Isotola Coca-Cola holder
Snap the granola, sprinkle ginko bola
Venom from a cobra, laced in the cummy ball odor
Soaked through a strainer, here's a dose of
the King James version, displayed just like Samsung
Wit effects that'll kill Rogers 007
Hanna Barbera, Park's the opposite of Bambi the deer
Fuck wit mics like Sonny and Cher
Or maybe the captain internet, immaculate golden seal
Nice like Mr. Whittendale your girl Chippendale
Shallah Price all up in ya dogged-out trench
When I snatched that, shit was broke shoulda sent ya ass back
And where's the key to the hatchback, pop that
Get in throw a bag full of mic's in there, respect that

[Girl - repeat 2X]
What party can you go to, and Wu ain't there
These niggaz actin like they don't care
What party can you go to, and Wu ain't there
These hoes actin like they don't care

All lyrics are property and copyright of their owners.