http://9thprince.com/
Albums
* Silent Weapons for Quiet Wars (as part of the group Killarmy) (August 5, 1997)
* Dirty Weaponry (as part of the group Killarmy) (August 11, 1998)
* Fear, Love & War (as part of the group Killarmy) (August 7, 2001)
* Granddaddy Flow (May 28, 2003)
* Prince of New York (November 11, 2008)
* Revenge of the 9th Prince (April 20, 2010)
* One Man Army (October 12, 2010)
* Shaolin Prince (Upcoming 2011)
Slang Killaz
9th Prince Lyrics
Jump to: Overall Meaning ↴ Line by Line Meaning ↴
[singer]
Hmm.. oooh.. ooh..
Killa Beez.. Killarmy..
[9th Prince]
Eh-yo
Luxury marriage, 9th ain't havin it
I keep the forty-five automatic like Mathematics
Start terminatin savages, I'm raw like 'caine to easy addicts
Street tactics, million dollar caskets
On biblical war, perform Michael Jackson Thriller but way iller
A slave killer, protected by Shaolin and Brooklyn Zu guerillas
Under my pillow, I sleep with grenades, untraceable heaters
Lay deeper than scientific readers
My cipher sounds will ding pound, I blast you on ya nightgown
Kidnap ya child, might give him to the crowd
On my way Uptown in my '95 Millenium
Seen Killa Sin and 'em, let niggas sound feminine
Remember 9th Prince ill forever, I get up in 'em
My style is like runnin' up in small town banks
Bulletproof tanks, never bust blanks
Always suffer with shank
[singer]
Killa Beez.. we will sting you..
Killa Beez.. Killarmy..
[Islord: over singer]
Aiyo aiyo once again
We stingin' y'all mothafuckas cuz I don't give a flyin' fuck
About none of y'all niggas out here
Cuz if you ain't none of my mothafuckin' Killarmy comrades
Fuck y'all!
Yo, check the topic to this essay
It's murder in the first, ese?
As I bust a slug through yo' fragile statue
And that's actual, precise timed and on point like a marksman
Four-four, rubber grip, Summer of Sam specialist, so take this
Four-hunded grain thought that'll pierce ya cranium
From the rear, I don't give a fuck, this is my year
I'm takin this rap shit back from the wack
Fuck who you are kid, fuck where you representin at
Cuz basically my mentality is on some '93 shit
When you had to Protect Ya Neck in this shit
To be an MC, now it's al about the tight clothes
Crossed over flows, platinum jewelery to get a plaque in the industry
But never the I-S-L-to the O-R-D
I keep my shit muddy like my Timbs be, you fake ass MC's
[singer]
Killa Beez.. Killarmy..
Killa Beez.. we will sting you..
[P.R. Terrorist]
Aiyo Terrorist
I'm on the block like any man
The difference between me and you is I understand
You askin' questions, "What's that shit up in my hand?"
Answer your questions, I fire that shit up in ya pan
Bitch nigga, understand? I'm the P-R-T, era is this
His lyrics are unique and his vocals are crisp
Bang that shit in ya Jeeps or on ya block with the fifth
So front on his, kid, front on this
'Til I could let this shit that's in my hand light up my wrist
And let this shit descend in like E-V ya chest
I'm far from the best, I'm more like the worst you ever seen
Spit green phlegm from blood same color as my jeans
And my boots'll be brown, get up, the street's down
Let the beat hound cuz beef pound, 'round the block
This is hip-hop, niggas fucked around and went pop
[singer]
Killa Beez.. Killarmy.. [x3]
Killa Beez.. we will sting you..
The lyrics to "Slang Killaz" by 9th Prince are a tribute to the Killa Beez and Killarmy, two legendary collective groups in the Wu-Tang Clan circle. In the first verse, 9th Prince throws lyrical jabs at those who desire luxury, and chooses to stick with a forty-five automatic gun as his companion. He speaks of street tactics, million-dollar caskets, and biblical war. The second verse, performed by Islord, is a continuation of the violent themes present in the song. He makes his disdain for fake MCs crystal clear, calling them out on their tight clothes and crossed-over flows. He asserts his status as a marksman, spitting out lyrics so precise that they hit their target with ease. In the final verse, P.R. Terrorist brings his own unique style to the track, boasting his status as a gangster on the block. He talks of firing shots and spitting green phlegm, making it clear that he is not someone to be trifled with.
Overall, "Slang Killaz" is a gritty, violent track that celebrates the Killa Beez and Killarmy's status as ruthless MCs. The lyrics are intense and raw, painting a vivid picture of street life and urban warfare.
Line by Line Meaning
A Soviet deep in Paris, Playboy rabbits want carrots
I feel like a Russian spy in France, everyone wants something from me
Luxury marriage, 9th ain't havin it
I won't settle for a marriage that's just for show
I keep the forty-five automatic like Mathematics
I always have a gun with me, just like Mathematics always has his calculator
Start terminatin savages, I'm raw like 'caine to easy addicts
I kill dangerous people and I'm as addictive as cocaine
Street tactics, million dollar caskets
I use street smarts to stay alive, but my enemies end up in expensive caskets
On biblical war, perform Michael Jackson Thriller but way iller
I fight a holy war and I dance better than Michael Jackson ever did
A slave killer, protected by Shaolin and Brooklyn Zu guerillas
I kill people who try to enslave others, and I have protection from powerful allies
Under my pillow, I sleep with grenades, untraceable heaters
I always have weapons nearby, and they're difficult to trace
Lay deeper than scientific readers
I have a greater understanding of the streets than scholars do
My cipher sounds will ding pound, I blast you on ya nightgown
The music I create is powerful and will wake you up, and my lyrics will hurt you
Kidnap ya child, might give him to the crowd
I might take your child and give them to people who support me
On my way Uptown in my '95 Millenium
I'm driving a nice car as I go uptown
Seen Killa Sin and 'em, let niggas sound feminine
I saw Killa Sin and his friends, who don't impress me much
Remember 9th Prince ill forever, I get up in 'em
People will never forget about me, and I will always defend myself
My style is like runnin' up in small town banks
My rap style is like robbing small banks
Bulletproof tanks, never bust blanks
I'm protecting myself with the best, and I never waste my ammo
Always suffer with shank
I always carry a knife and I use it when needed
We stingin' y'all mothafuckas cuz I don't give a flyin' fuck
We're attacking you because we don't care about the consequences
Check the topic to this essay
Pay attention to what I'm about to say
It's murder in the first, ese?
I'm asking if you're ready for murder right off the bat
As I bust a slug through yo' fragile statue
I shoot through your weak defenses
And that's actual, precise timed and on point like a marksman
My aim is accurate, timed perfectly, and as precise as a professional shooter
Four-hunded grain thought that'll pierce ya cranium
My bullet is powerful enough to go through your skull
From the rear, I don't give a fuck, this is my year
I'll attack you from behind because I don't care, and this is my time to shine
I'm takin this rap shit back from the wack
I'm taking back the rap game from all the bad artists
Cuz basically my mentality is on some '93 shit
My mindset is like it was back in 1993 when rap was at its best
When you had to Protect Ya Neck in this shit
Back then, you had to be tough and fight for your spot in the industry
Now it's all about the tight clothes
Nowadays, people care more about fashion than actual talent
But never the I-S-L-to the O-R-D
I'll never change who I am and where I'm from
I keep my shit muddy like my Timbs be, you fake ass MC's
I keep my rhymes rough and authentic, unlike all the fake rappers out there
Answer your questions, I fire that shit up in ya pan
If you ask me what's in my hand, I'll shoot you with it
Bitch nigga, understand? I'm the P-R-T, era is this
Don't mess with me, I'm the P.R. Terrorist and this is my time
His lyrics are unique and his vocals are crisp
My rap style is original and my flow is smooth
Bang that shit in ya Jeeps or on ya block with the fifth
Play my music loud on your car stereo or on the streets with a gun for protection
So front on his, kid, front on this
If you disrespect me, you'll get hurt
'Til I could let this shit that's in my hand light up my wrist
I won't stop fighting until I have no bullets left in my gun
And let this shit descend in like E-V ya chest
My bullets will go deep into your body
I'm far from the best, I'm more like the worst you ever seen
I know I'm not the greatest rapper, but I'm still better than most
Spit green phlegm from blood same color as my jeans
My rhymes are so sick that I spit green mucus, just like my jeans
And my boots'll be brown, get up, the street's down
I wear brown boots and I'm always ready to fight
Let the beat hound cuz beef pound, 'round the block
Let the music play and let's start a fight around the neighborhood
This is hip-hop, niggas fucked around and went pop
The rap game used to be real, but now it's all about commercial success and pop music
Contributed by Riley M. Suggest a correction in the comments below.