Intro: Raekwon the Chef
Scrape y'all motherfuckers, this is my word
When you see us -- when you see us flashing and shining
and building, and adding on, y'all niggaz just watch
Hear me? Only ones who we got respect for
is them niggaz that we say peace to
Hear me? Pay attention, put your shoes on
Verse One: Raekwon the Chef
Yo, my team be bellyaching hungry niggaz on the swarm again
Pirahna nigga bite dick, yo Son, it's on again
What up, he made a move, try to assist it
Listen kid yo, you was born to be a pawn but I'm a bishop
Back to the novel, yo Son, it's logical
How you figure God, what, float on the track, flip the obstacle
Now my proposal rips the global
From California to courts, it's over God, so taste this tofu
Remember, baggy jeans Timber-lands in November
Shorty called me Santa in December
But guess what, my Wally's got messed up
Autograph pressed up what, blast enough to blow your rest up
We scrape that, Land O' Lake that, Mazola rapper get you sent back
Represent the gentlemens who bent that
Flash medallions like Italians, la costra nostra
We moving through your hood like we supposed ta, flexin
Lexy Diamonds close the settlement, so keep the bust-ya-gun Boo
Like that bad ass bitch in Dead Presidents
Add on, the Billboard snored, check it now
You get the gold dick award, it's like jail and it's the sixth floor
Test me, boating in the S.E., now let's see
Half of y'all niggaz built your rhyme from my stress tree
Faggots, homos, yo, my flavor liver than a dobo
Stay militant kid, push it like bolo
You fucking idiot, playing with my Clan but you be fearing it
Fake one, I'm guaranteed to make you take one
Please, y'all niggaz money's getting low
But could you come back doe, set up shop, and get the phat glow
Tired of y'all, mostly inspired by y'all
So what the deal now, blinkin with us or put your shield down, faggot
[Raekwon] [RZA]
You fuck around punk Bitch, fuckin punk niggaz
We battle for cream nigga Seven-Fifteen, yo
Verse Two: RZA
You want a pound crab, nah let his hand swing
I ought to punch a hole in his palm with these pointy ass rings
No more said, knew your chump ass was dead
When I saw the four-four reflecting off your shiny forehead
It's Wu-Tang nigga, ain't nuttin changed nigga
Still shame on a nigga, who tried to run game
You're version of perversion, fucking bitches on Persian rugs
Washin niggaz like detergent, it's the surgeon
Slugs propels from Bobby Steels twelve gauge front page Early Chronicle reads
Hell Up in Gotham, take heed and protect your seeds
We fall like autumn leaves, you lack tranquility
in your rap utilities, to fuck with the abilities
Raised like a sperm cell to the ovary
Microphone post tone like a rotary phone, ancient poems of poetry
Old tomes, explosive head bullets, black hooded
Timberland footed ninjas, with full metal jacket clips
And know how to put it in you
Surrender your goods and your merchandise
For no purchase price, I'm certainly a heist
for your ices curtains and vice
Come quietly, Wu-Tang Clan rules society
Because of variety, so maintain your high anxiety
And lead them to the fiery diary, irie... we irie
I need eighteen points for my next joint, this high annointed king
To make a deal, I be the one to appoint
Steve Rifkind must have been sniffin, to catch somethin so dope
That left Monika Linz pussy drippin
I fuck hundreds of bitches, and spent millions of dollars
and built with thousands of scholars, my life saga
From the hill to horror, legal came brown like Nicaragua
Gave birth to MC's, thieves and bank robbers
We drove expensive whips and took world-wide trips
And my dick's been sucked by the finest lips
Fancy delicatessans, and the world's best refreshment
But none of the above compare to the one-twenty lessons
Or my queen and my seed, in the home that I rest in
Into my zone get blown in ninety-nine sections
Verse Three: Method Man
This rhyme has no limitations, this time there's no hesitation
Collectin mines at the door
You want it niggaz it's yours, the flavor's raw
What the fuck you think I'm flowin for, it's rhyme and reason
Bite the bullet, niggaz is fowl and it's Duck Seazon
We at odds til we even motherfucker
Bad asses, high time, lower classes
Taste mine, straight shots in dirty glasses
Bring it to him, room service, under pressure
and mad nervous, waving guns at the clergy
Ticallion, we ain't worried, keep them sick niggaz seven-thirty
Picture this, watch the birdy
These Bastards is Ol and Dirty, with sharp hems
that be stabbin you, pins and needles, needles and pins
Nuff said, dick in your mouth, like Tempest Bled
As I race track with thoroughbreds, duckin the feds
Verse Four: Raekwon the Chef
Yo, my ice look fly up on the keyboard Son
Niggaz ran up on me Lord, praisin what we do, by the laws
That's right, exile the fake, hit them niggaz like weight
Feed a fool, let the fake evaporate
Reconstruction, that's the whole science on my
production, y'all niggaz guess who stuck Son, left his nuts sunk
Switch, finger itch, starin at you like a bitch
Maybe y'all niggaz snitched
Youse a loner, Adidas shell-top with lye
sip of Corona, read the rev report then bone her
Buy you some jewels, here's some food
Not neccessarily, mean to be rude Boo, check out the analoo
We in the mushrooms, taste of Heineken accustomed
Baggy jeans, thick ropes God, sliding through customs
Chill, y'all niggaz know what time it is
James Bond Beamers behind me, on Bacardi Limon
Check out the pitch like Nolan Ryan, he cought a slug for lyin
Yeah you was lyin, where's the cash, crying
Militia, rolling in position, Casa Blanca Cuban Link Christian
Lex retally back, whistlin, fake fucks...
*sounds of swords clashing, and fighting*
How dare you rebuild the Wu-Tang Clan against me?
For that you're gonna DIE!
I may not be the one to stop you, but somebody will very soon
Also, the Wu-Tang Clan, will rise again
There are many of us, all working for the good of the Wu-Tang
DIE
|