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Go Back   Wu-Tang Corp. - Official Site of the Wu-Tang Clan > The Elements > Wu-Tang Chamber > Track Reviews

View Poll Results: Rate USA
5 Star Classic 1 33.33%
4 Star Banger 1 33.33%
3 Star Decent 1 33.33%
2 Star Boring 0 0%
1 Star Wack 0 0%
Voters: 3. You may not vote on this poll

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Old 01-08-2010, 07:29 AM   #1
beautifulrock
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Default USA - Track Review

USA

The Problem - Mathematics
2005

Ghostface Killah
Masta Killa
Todd
Panama P.I.
Eyeslow
Hot Flamez
T-Slugz
Buddah Bless

Mathematics




(Ghostface Killah)

Walked up in the party like Riz', Ghost, Meth
Allah's on the wheels, Chef on the left
Fifty rep chin ups, the Wu rims up
Put down the Heiney for a sec, tie my Timb's up
Cake the Benz up, Starks ole'
Got the summer house crib, beats spun, murder you, than lay
Ric Flair cabbage and carrots, big exotic boat trips
The honey motion, wind up in Paris

[Chorus]

Had a bad dream and it came to me
That I died and went to heaven, ain't have no weed
God said "Son, let me see your ID"
*Buddah Bless* gotta be right behind me
Which reminds me..

(Buddah Bless)

B, I'm just a thug
After hip hop, money, sex and drugs
After chicks that got money and tech's with slugs
You see the head to toe, yo, the way I dress is love
Plus them nine bang quick
And the hand game speak for itself
Like sign language, you lost and shook
Like the fish that got away, man, I'm off the hook
When these niggaz gotta pay, get it off the books

(Masta Killa)

Yo, knocked on a humble, slid through the system
Bag me a C-Wall, on the bench of the bullpen
My speaker for the pillow, my locked down presidents
Conflictors, for the robbers and jukers
The buck fifty stitch zippers, if you wit us
From my Chi-Town thugs to my Killa Cali gangstas
Minnesota Wolves, Philly Six shooters
We ain't chuck potent, we off money throw up

(T-Slugz)

It don't mean nothing to me
Y'all can't get nothing from me, stop frontin' from me and
Y'all ain't got nothing for me
I take you where you want it to be, I'm who you wanted to see
And I'm that same dude, that came through
Runnin' with the same crew, still here, reppin' all the same rules
CD's easy to move, honey say I'm easy to choose, that ain't easy to you
And I stand out, big time, y'all easy to lose
Niggaz face all screwed, I'm just breakin' the news
And we do this for the cash, still keep a stash in a brown paper bag
Me and my nigga Mad, light skinned, dark skinned, we lovin', what an ass
Slow that thing down, ma, you movin' too fast

(Panama P.I.)

Yo, you movin' to fast
Watch P.I., throw the shit on smash
This game is high risk, player
Strictly for brick breakers and brick layers, spit razors
Jewel gem star, ball with the players, who grab the rim hard
Walk on dot, and it's the P on hard
When it's off season, I bring the pain 'til your balls bleeding
Quick as a Porsche speed, my niggaz floss frequent
Catch us up in court reading, with a
Couple of sons, that's used to hustlin' drums
I guess that's the only way we double our funds
Everything hardcore, when we slide in the door
Wait 'til we go back on tour
New exclusive joint, two thousand and - and

[Chorus]

(Eyeslow)

I walk with crooks, love guns, married to gats
That Cali' detach, your back from that battery pack
My salary stack, chain make these other niggaz hurl
Yeah it's O and G, I'm O and P in other nigga's girl
I ain't lovin' nigga's girl, I'm just training, just banging
Just hanging, smokin' while my other nigga's twirl
(It's a gutter nigga's world) I'm all about the cheddar, man
Any problems you want, speak to my Beretta, man

(Hot Flames)

I was taught from young, that, live is what you making it
Stuck on the crooked road, but I was taught to straighten it
Every track flamin' it, every gat, aimin' it
Before I start sprayin' it, and then I start banging it
Strong arm, I'm claimin' it, if I bring a chick to the crib
And she ain't my wifey, then we clangin' it
Spit hard, probably cuz I'm missing my fam
If it's beef, y'all niggaz better 'dip' like Cam

(Todd)

Son, you get mine, get knocked, and then I just get time
But I'm a hit the boy hard, just like you was a punchline
You spit, oh shit, call this here, lunch time
I'm a throw hot sauce all over that lunch rhyme
Rap for days, that'll blow like grenades
Flow so hot, it'll make 'em run for shade
Nowadays, the D's gettin' niggaz, picked up
So I hustle and sit up and let God big up
Fag, they call me Betty, cuz I got that ready rock
For any nigga that's ready to go inside the baker shop
Money mean a lot so I keeps mine in the wall
You the type that get a dollar and go and run to the store
Not me, each dollar I get, I make a copy
To let y'all know, for the love of this, I was the body
Looks are deceiving, so I'm askin' y'all to try me
Man was the one, who made hand guns a hobby

[Chorus x2]
__________________

While you were busy dissing Wu like a bitch ass/ I was getting served after sex breakfast/ Yeah, that BBW groupie shit/ can get you served a droopy dick/ fuck what you're speaking/ 'cause I throw W's with Puerto Ricans

Last edited by beautifulrock; 01-11-2010 at 04:25 PM.
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Old 01-11-2010, 04:26 PM   #2
beautifulrock
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I'm all about the cheddar, man
Any problems you want, speak to my Beretta, man



shit had me dyin' man
__________________

While you were busy dissing Wu like a bitch ass/ I was getting served after sex breakfast/ Yeah, that BBW groupie shit/ can get you served a droopy dick/ fuck what you're speaking/ 'cause I throw W's with Puerto Ricans
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