Låttexter:
No Fun At All State Of Flow

y'all) Check this shit, yo! [Verse One: Raekwon the Chef] I grew up on the crime side, the New York Times side Staying alive was no jive At second hands

go All I know is we be giving grace This is a place from where we make tapes We make 'em everywhere, still in all we be making base Y'all be making paste

a mess on your set and your dress Handle my business, or handle your princess When I was younger, was no different It's all effort, taste the sweat Screamin at

got my spine smothered But I'll be fine brother - my mind hovers above all you jive suckers wishin, that's word to my mother You throw a shot at me, I

this nigga on? That's D The dawg come and getcha outside The more blood flows, when I plug holes with the snub nosed Gun blows, bullets whistle, wouldn't miss you Hit you all

rhymin' with two left feet That's like a cripple man in lane five at the track meet You wishin' on a star but you lookin' at the sun I be the one who

two left feet That's like a cripple man in lane five at the track meet You wishin on a star but you lookin at the sun I be the one who takes it so serious

feds Spit shit at niggaz that might erase they head And role miserable niggaz who can't wait to be dead All out, Ruff Ryde mothafucka, all out Wanna flow

never Settle 'cause it rotates like Ho cakes under glass, it's all About ya future yet it's all About ya past like how many Faces did ya mold in ya