In Trouble

(album: Wu-Chronicles: Chapter II - 2001)

[Shyheim:]
In Trouble [8x]
Yeah, yeah, word, what?
That's my word, Allah
Get me out of this one (please!)
I'll never do it again (for real)
Word, somebody help me (I swear, Allah)
Please make everything be okay
I'm in a well, I can't get out
I'm trapped, for real
{When you're down.. in trouble}
I'm telling you
Nobody gon' be there for you
{And you need some love and care}
Come on, You gonna be all alone, son!
I'm telling you, you better listen to me
(I'm your son, Allah!)
That's my word
Listen son, listen
Yo yo yo yo
For real, yo, yo, yo
For real, yo, yo, yo
I'ma keep it real, yo, yo, yo
I'ma keep it real

Three-to-six facing, new indictment
Plus violation of probation, I had to do the boogie oogie
Absent from court, like class, I played hookey
The pressure's on, tippy tippy, I'm on my toes
Fuck rising to the occasion, the temperature been rose
Set it off like intros, blast you and your kin folks
A trouble maker, bitch taker, a Scorpio
Naughty by Nature, my Unit brings the Flavor

We cake up like make up, and in New York
Fuck the daily news, Shyheim, I made the paper
Want a anchor and a yacht, drop-top, three-and-a-quarter
My mother said, "People in Hell want ice water"
It'll be a manslaughter, private-eye, that's an order
I know where them cowards be standing, on the corner
Send Cain a money order, one love cousin
I thought it was when it wasn't, the dust had me
Bugging

Pssh.. word up son
When you down, they scatter like roaches
They be scared to death to pull them burners out them
Holsters
Yo, word to my mother, I think they eat Hostess!

For real, son
But y'all I'ma bring it like, yo

Yo, yo, yo
How the fuck y'all was thinkin'? Shyheim/Abe Lincoln
So what you ain't hear me on the Clan album, featuring
It's best I'm kept secretive like Masonry
Wanna hold me in captive in Babylon like Julias Maccabees
That's blasphemy, Shaolin'll blast for me
I eat niggas like plates, from Applebee's
Wu-Tang Killa Bees, we cause casualties
Collect annual fees, from y'all pussy-ass niggas
Who album should've come with a piece of gum and a tattoo sticker
A lot of my niggas, they've returned to the Earth
And in front of their hearse, I kick the same verse
Cuz everything the pastor said was fake and it hurt

That's my word
Niggas don't be there (for real)
When you gone, (Word bond) all you get is a five five minute
Conversation
Word, they like, "Yo, remember him?"
For real, "Remember them?"
Word up, son, man
Probably won't even get no flowers on your tombstone
I'm telling you, knowing who is your homies
Niggas'll be stingy that you hang with
Uh, uh, uh

When I was ten years old, I realized that with an O
I could flip that and bring back a brick in coke
Never took a short, never took a snort
Caught a warrant in New York for not appearing in court
But I'll still survive, some of my closest homies died
Murdered in homicides, I just couldn't let it slide
Fuck money, jewelry and being a rap star
I hopped out shooting, soon as my bitch stopped the car
Shyheim with the scar did it
That's what everybody said on my trial minutes
They thought I was finished, but then I got acquitted
And popped niggas in their eye for the fucking spinach
Not for Olive Oyl

Yea, word, for real
(Never Spoiled) To all my real peoples
Graduated, on the real, from the School of Hard Knocks (One Love)
(One thug to the last slug)
To all my niggas, being out for the law
(People that come and diss you) official Outlawz
(Forms of snakes and all that)
And all my niggas (suck a dick 'til you hiccup)
Keepin it Gully, keeping it bloody
Keeping it real, Shyheim
To my whole family, Shy feel you
We down, but we on the rise, son!
I'm telling y'all
For real (it's on, nigga)
Yea, twenty-seven (roll wit the punches...)
Wu-Tang (or get punched, mothafucka!)
Shaolin, Staten Island