Gold Lyrics - Liquid Swords - Gza

Aiyo shorty, yo that's my word 

Oh, y'all smelling y'all piss now y'all think y'all gold 

Yo anybody get caught flinging over here 

I'm returning 'em, that's my word they getting blasted 

Anything from 220 to 140, that's mine 

Y'all need to step the fuck off 

Y'all niggas ain't crazy for real 

Yo, the fiends ain't coming fast enough 

There is no cut that's pure enough 

I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload 

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I'm deep down in the back streets, in the heart of Medina 

About to set off something more deep than a misdemeanor 

Under the subway, waiting for the train to make noise 

So I can blast a nigga and his boys, for what? 

He pushed up on the block and made the dope sales drop 

Like the crash in the Dow Jones stock 

I had a connect to cross-sales, to catch more mill's 

Than ho-bitches got birth control pills 

I'm in the park setting up a deal over blunt fire 

Bum nigga sleeping on the bench, they had him wired 

Peeped my convo, the address of my condo 

And how I changed a nigga name to John Doe 

And while we set up camp, we got vamped 

Put the stake through his heart, I ripped his fucking fangs apart 

Snake got smoked on the set like Brandon Lee 

Blown out the frame like Pan Am Flight 103 

He got swung on, his lungs was torn 

A kingpin just castled with his rook and lost a pawn 

A regular on the block that played lookout 

For preying predator with a Glock, he should have took out 

Photos 

No neighbourhood is rough enough 

There is no clip that's full enough 

I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload 

Product must be sold to you 

Fiends ain't coming fast enough 

There is no cut that's pure enough 

I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload 

Product must be sold to you 

It's mandatory that I supply all my troops with mega firearms 

Big apes and spread 'em out like crops on a farm 

To get cream, sometimes they repaint the scene 

Like the last episode on gates, and other niggas 

Plant bombs till the smoke from the blast becomes thick 

And flows through, all they knew, he's gun sick 

His Glock clicks like high-heeled shoes on parquet floors 

Mad sick, stand on hills and invade wars 

Filthy foul, shovelling dirt, he's out to hurt 

For instance, chop off hands, attack worth 

His idols would lock down airports and extort 

Some import, catching ten percent of what the fiends snort 

Up in the ski resorts, up in hills 

They move keys and had the skis making drops on snowmobiles 

The plan was to expand, catch seven figures, release triggers 

And live large and bigger than my nigga 

Who promised his moms a mansion with mad room 

She died and he still put a hundred grand in her tomb 

Open wounds, he hid behind closed doors 

And still organizes crime and drug wars 

Fiends ain't coming fast enough 

There is no cut that's pure enough 

I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload 

Product must be sold to you 

No neighborhood is rough enough 

There is no clips that's full enough 

I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload 

Product must be sold to you 

There's no cuffs that's tight enough 

There is no niggas that's fuck with us 

I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload 

Product must be sold to you