More Than Gold (Instr.) - Bronze Nazareth, Timbo King

We gotta make that money long

When I make my fifty cent, lord

I been rollin', rollin', rollin', rollin'

Economy, razor blade rep, I’m try’nna make it Labotamy, stays on your left, pistol destroys it Blaow, blaow, blaow, I need my fifty cent now

Blaow, blaow, blaow, I want my fifty cent now

I’m coming from the land of the scams and dollar plans

Cardierre blasts, to take all your metal, infactured sands

Where the blunt runs, straight out the president’s face

We got more, heat on the streets, than in your apartment’s space

Walk a creek of dirty needles, and follow the set of dreams

Broken bottles lead to piss and in auburn colored streams

Type old money, pass his hands like identically hugh planes

Rap like bodies in Holland Park, the gun never jams

Fam, give me my money, you still owe me some change

I’ve been waiting since tanks from '67 came with the flame

So let’s dance like those AK rounds, and stop this aid

Just shake our ass like a glass ashtray, smash on precious face

We dangle like sun, seven wrist to escape the shackle

Run your money like blood from Matt Parker’s ankles

Cuz we gotta get that green cloth to smorgesboard

Don’t eat it all, just let me eat for all my hood, you heard

Yo, the sun never rises here, it’s just the gun shots

Blow your display on white snow and those haunted locks

Plus the chilling degrees of our routine

Take all the CREAM, what war need vaccine

That make it seem as if, we just as cold

As our hands, in sweet December mist

And RZA piff lift, left over brains of cotton

That never blossom, sharp the heavens like the apostle

You see me, I write the lines like a sniper’s mind

Polish ya nice, push our flowers, college of crime

So give me cash, you still owe me some paper

I’ve been waiting since you traded beads and whiskey for my labor

Coins jingle in pockets like rocks in a glass pipe

It’s heavy like the air on San Arbor murder night

Stomp ya feet like that body dragged down the basement steps

I flow like water in ya cellar from foundation cracks

On the same streets where the slaves ran into freedom

Night fractured by neon, hustle, my cannons steaming

Yo this is I-75 robbery, zombie lodge

Kamikaze Gods, Michigan Babylon

Nice deadmen that cast metal for no reason to travel on Make that money, but don’t let that money make you

Make that money, but don’t let that money make you

Make that money, but don’t let that money make you

Make that money, but don’t let it cash you in