The Whistle Lyrics - Masta Killa

(feat. Masta Killa, Prodigal Sunn) 

(Intro: RZA) 

(whistling) 

(beat kicks in) 

Di-Di-Di-Di-Di-Digital 

(RZA) 

Yo, I beat the case, now I face the acquittal 

You nizzles try to belittle, but ya'll lest in spittle 

From a baby's lip, the digi made me flip 

Plus they paid me chips, just to spray the clip 

And empty out on you, in sync like the SMPTE output on the MPC 2002 

We be housin' crews, plus we housin' fools 

In abandoned apartments with a thousand tools 

Crazy shootin' dudes buck off the beat 

Brainless boutless fools who be stuck off the leaf 

Two guns in their hands yellin' "Fuck the police!" 

On the weekend get drunk and they fuck with the niece 

Of the precint chief, she got the tattoo 

On her breast that's shaped like The W 

Go 'head snatch the guns, son, I'll cover you 

And if they get past me we got another two, yeah... 

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(Chorus: RZA & Prodigal Sunn) 

We smoke those blunts the size of bats 

We got those gats as long as ax 

We snatch that cheese right off the trap 

We put those Beez all on your map 

(Prodigal Sunn) 

I shoot the fair one, I dare ya'll run through New York City 

Or any city or place, my face, royal taste, pace myself 

Ace my health, great with wealth 

Undetected like the wings of a Stealth, I move for self 

Or any man, woman or child that I call fam 

That's the way I am, word to Glock, my sister Pam 

Son, lived through the terror of the World Trade blues 

Nine o'clock news, abused the mind of many fools 

Braves and jewels, made my moves, paid my dues 

From the School of Intelligence, I stayed benevolent 

Most high, magnify, multiply, as I add to the Kings of Kings 

We never die, built my name, sustained like blood 

Flow through the veins divine sign 

Dine with wine forever sunshine 

Photos 

(Chorus) 

(RZA) 

We smoke... 

(Masta Killa) 

From the Vil to Brazil, live on your C-SPAN radio band 

Explicit, dice kiss it, pour a little liquor 

Golden imported from Cuba, Miss Aruba 

Sexy as Asia, met her up in Mecca 

Getting up in Just Cipher, hit it on the first date 

Plotted my escape, twelve hours shift at the gate 

How can you beat a G a week in '88? 

Trips to the Pocono Lodge, the fresh Izod 

Mama shouldn't work so hard to pay the landlord 

A grand in your birthday card, times is hard 

The gun hammer click, when the pigs blitz 

We scramble like Vick, automatic six plus one to the head 

Yo, the east so hot, it's red, but that's home 

And my Glock still burn your skin to the bone 

Sonny Corleone don't discuss it on the phone 

(Chorus to end)