Womb To The Tomb House of Pain (Ft. Divine Styler)
"Womb to the Tomb" by House of Pain (ft. Divine Styler), released in 1994, is a hip-hop track that explores themes of life's journey, struggles, and the cyclical nature of existence. The lyrics reflect on personal experiences and societal issues, emphasizing resilience and authenticity. Musically, it features a blend of hard-hitting beats and samples characteristic of the era, with a raw, energetic delivery. The song contributes to the 90s hip-hop scene, showcasing the genre's depth and cultural relevance. #HipHop
CHORUS:
From the womb to the tomb
[Earth to dust]
From the earth to the moon
[The woman I trust]
And from the sea to the sky
[I see reflection]
And from the brain through the eye
[Another soul bless on]
From the celtic tribes, and the highland plains
I hit you with the quickness, like bad brains
I ain't blowin' no spikes, no queers, no dykes
Just the pale-faced cracker in the high-top nikes
Dope bustin' mics, I smoke cannibus
And if it's God's day off, in the sig I trust
You don't think I bust, you don't know my style
I got kids that'll hit ya on the low-profile
I've been from 248, out to east New York
My earth don't wear swine
I don't eat pork From no rusty fork, or no silver spoon
Put down your silver platter, kid, come check the data
My crew's chock-full of free information
It's jihad, Mecca be the destination
Glory be to God one more prostration
The root and foundation of civilization
From the womb to the tomb
[Earth to dust]
From the earth to the moon
[The woman I trust]
And from the sea to the sky
[I see reflection]
And from the brain through the eye
[Another soul bless on]
From the celtic tribes, and the highland plains
I hit you with the quickness, like bad brains
I ain't blowin' no spikes, no queers, no dykes
Just the pale-faced cracker in the high-top nikes
Dope bustin' mics, I smoke cannibus
And if it's God's day off, in the sig I trust
You don't think I bust, you don't know my style
I got kids that'll hit ya on the low-profile
I've been from 248, out to east New York
My earth don't wear swine
I don't eat pork From no rusty fork, or no silver spoon
Put down your silver platter, kid, come check the data
My crew's chock-full of free information
It's jihad, Mecca be the destination
Glory be to God one more prostration
The root and foundation of civilization
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