[Verse One: Ghostface Killah]
|
|
Aiyyo I roll like a bat out of hell
|
Evil acapell's fly spittin out of my grill
|
Before I hit the sky with springtime colors
|
Juicy as a Sunkist, certain broads double dutch this
|
They carve it in they wrist, pales berry blazes
|
Straighten the crumbs left on the stove, clothes in my lady hair
|
Plus yours the look gold God, the old tainted bald technique
|
Got these vestibules designer niggaz in they whips
|
jumpin out they seats, eighteen, Bronzeman Part II
|
We like Dorothy Hamill on ice
|
We in your hood we might circle, hats down low in the Range
|
Switch lanes, change my tire, peel out
|
Real loud on the stage yo, I shitted on your hood kid
|
I shitted on your hood, got to your burner too late
|
I'm lookin real good, draped out
|
Shinin like a fresh fifty cent piece, your girlfriend, c'mere
|
Oh shit, you my man's niece, the gourmet pocket twenty
|
bombs made of clay, Sexcapades take place
|
We fucked in forty-eight shades might walk up in your studio
|
time slap your engineer, it's lighter fluid to that style
|
Hand me the matches now
|
|
[Verse Two: Raekwon the Chef]
|
|
Aiyyo rainbow Roley on the wrist, now what's this
|
Niggaz bless this, eight and a half, Bally banana twist
|
E shakes, puffin on lye, feedin the seed's plate
|
Pullin out, old dirty eights to rob gates
|
Major wake up, the kid telltales, make a nigga head wake up
|
Beats break, the nigga would take off his time
|
Honolulu status, gladdest
|
the rich rock cabbage and dollar vans grands
|
That nigga mad savage, stationary Hall of Justice
|
Niggaz came clumped out
|
Just came home, now they bunked out
|
Money be longer than triple life
|
til the sun burn out, that's my word
|
Move it with the burner out
|
Fidel way of thinkin, roll with the Mac bent Ac-10
|
Most of my team, Five Percent check what the live said
|
Rollin with Guess vests pedestrians yo
|
holdin my nuts, fuckin thousand dollar lesbians
|
|
[Ghost] Yo, the Older God put me on and had to rock this
|
[both] Maintain Three-Sixty Lord live prosperous
|
[Ghost] It only takes a lesson a day, just to analyze life
|
[both] one time in the respectable mind
|
[repeat 2X]
|
|
[Verse Three: The Genius/GZA]
|
|
Let the shot spark, soon as his pit bull barks
|
Tire scars from skid marks leaves from jams in school parks
|
Witness, forget his, original statement
|
Even in protection programs there's no escapement
|
Gunned down, we in town, hit king from seven crowns
|
Spent rounds catch him while he rhyme in the Zebra Lounge
|
Wounded, back in the eighty-three summer heat
|
Up in three-oh-nine park, rhymin off the drummer's beat
|
I stalk the city streets demonstratin mic wrecks
|
All lookin stank, I ain't playin wit a full deck
|
And as they nervously stare, I know they scared
|
They saw the coming of Wu, the neon in Times Square
|
Household name, assassin, killa bee
|
Mill to the grain, that posess the Wu, trilogy
|
Quick to spot those that bite camoflouge and blend
|
Those that got styles, they got identical twins
|
Don't stretch the small thing, copycats are finnicky
|
without skills, they master the art of mimicry
|
But I go line for line on the whole page
|
Your unspotted life on the mic is old age
|
|
[*rocket fired, whistles off and explodes, breaking glass*]
|
|
-----------------
|
Older Gods
|
Wu Tang Clan |