Sencillo / Pista

Slow Blues

Vast Aire, Timbo King, Prodigal Sunn, Byata, & Wu-Tang•Audio Oficial (YouTube API)

Letras

Yeah, get my voice, get the clarity

Sunzini the flame

Let me drop a little something hot, what?

Yeah (we here)

(Yo, turn my vocals up, son)

Turn my voice up (yeah, yo, yeah)

Yo, Brooklyn, Bo King, yeah

All my Russians come on (uh, yo)

Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh

I'm Vast Aire

I got to pull, I got to pull out the guitar on this one

Yeah (yeah, yeah, yeah)

I'm like Ali, better yet, Joe Louis

I will push my hands through you, I don't need bullets

Show me the signal, let's flow

I'll be outside with thirty niggas ready to go

We shine when we rhyme, so I'm, ready to glow

I liked to hem shows, I'm ready to sew

Pass me the needle, you get the cloth

Kunta'll get the thread and we'll all break bread

This is the true birth of a prince

When I die, this song'll be a footprint

I'll be back with the essence in an instant

I heard about Ason, and burnt an incense

Life's ill, don't get it pretzled

I can't show you, but I'll leave a stencil

I'm talking 'bout what matters, not figures

I'm pointing at the moon and you looking at my finger

Come correctly and I don't really give a fuck

Who won't accept me, you see?

I gotta do this for the underground, broke it down

Coney Isle, BK to Uptown, yeah, they gonna know me now

I'm up in the kitchen cooking up some hot shit

Just ask your boy Raekwon, he gon' tell you how I spit, yeah

Byata live it, it's a hustle every day

I'm on the grind tryna see this million pay day

But I stay shining, catch me when I'm up in the scene

Rocking the surplus русская девка silk screens, yeah

Gorilla style, don't make me have to wild out

With the surrealer for realer, caveat, come tell 'bout

Making moves, paying dues on the evening news

The Russian lifestyle, bitches, we never lose

Now give me another blast of that green

'Til I get open and I'm nasty with the sixteen, yeah

They don't even know what's coming

'Til them got them rubbing off the rooster

Chick from C.I. To Brighton Beach, yeah, we Russian sick (sick)

Woo, yeah, yeah, we Russian sick (sick)

Uh-huh, yeah, yeah, the chick is sick (yo, come on, yo)

I'm Young Abraham in front of the projects puffing

If I honor myself then my honor is nothing

Even a spirit of evil in the veins of a junkie

Pay peanuts and you get monkeys

Honkey see, honkey do, yeah, Yacub the foul serpent

Amongst crack dealers, street merchants, Bo King

Yeah, flows from out of my mouth

Up North, Down South, yeah, I'm never without

Extra heat on some black burner, semi assault

Buccaneer, yeah, I'm bucking near holes in your port

'Cause you ain't bustin' nothing, that's studio edits

Who doing the shooting? Your engineer gettin' all the credit

So while you busting shots in a four hour session

I'll be aiming at cops in the name of oppression

Mac-1 to the second power, clap off end

I can hit anything up close or far away

Spray lead at the governor's head 'cause he don't wanna

Break bread with the slaves that never been fed

One for my son's money, two for the show

Three, I gets busy, four, I'm out the door, bro

Five, the click get live, the Sunn'll jive

Blaze that haze in the East, that purple kush on the Westside

Tech vests with the metal slides, from rebel Bedstuy

I do or die, high on the ride

This revolution will be televised, through mics, I'm mesmerized

Sight spies, small fries, living lies

Testing the flame, will get you blowned out the fucking frame

I don't bang, but I will let that Eagle reign

Never catch me tucking the chain, I'm gutter grain

That's word to mther main, sustained in this fucking game

Yeah, he shines like aluminum foil, make the mic boil

Ladies and gentleman, introducing, I'm loyal

Bloodlines royal, hood raised never spoiled

I'm quick to bury a snake, Jake, beneath the soil

Twist that backwood berry croyal

Taste the green as it broil and watch it burn like oil

That independent who stays major, rule one, about my paper

It all started on the block with small cash capers

A force of nature, my mom and pops ain't no glass makers

And if I see you on some shit, I'm a fair shaker

I let it out like Sharon Vegas, serving traitors

Y'all niggas now I shine across the equator

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Slow Blues

Letras