I despise your killing, and raping You're... despicable Are you, my judge? It's just... you should be punished I'm going to chop off your arm, so are you ready? Verse One: U-God Yo, yeah, yo, yo Yo, yeah Check these high hats sting things moving through the rubbish Party robust, rec room style for you brothers Time's ticking, eruptments conduct Entering one funk before the drum dry up Dial, style, jab vocab slow Alphabet run, construction voice might blow Tap dance swelling Hemingway novel model For a breather, dirty reefer hide your bottle Cut down, come with something that's round and profound Blood brothers people of colors we get down Watch this fly, force feed things being said Nine Diagram acid black evil red left his Mic half a dangle, seriouser man My mic clapper def wish, everlasting plan Heavenly God body, know me as the cleaner Night champion, old villain style seem a Kiss of spider, to God saga why bother Godfather talk drama, fly swatters Number two, Chao San Poi Verse Two: The Genius/GZA This Wu shit be hard to kill and full blown Rhymes filtered through the net before words hit the chrome Pro tools editing tracks that's rough Cause a jam without a live MC isn't enough So we attack this, and grab all within reach Throw a scrap back to niggaz - perfect your own speech Shit is copper, it ain't worth the mic stands Used by backup singers in Atlantic City bands Niggaz look on, and get hooked on this mic line Real thin and shift through the pipeline LP's delivered with style and potential Niggaz flowin smoothly in a sequential Order, revealin hidden tape recorders Stashed inside pockets of those who lack aura Verse Three: Raekwon the Chef Twist the DAC up, them niggaz with math is back up Watch he act up, fifty-two block track we slap up Playground maneuver, jet to Vancouver like this Two Kahluas one chick she's German Luger Get the shit on, light a fresh pack, bust it open With the seal on Dunn, deal on this, with the real on Next, Rocky, ring, call it to Decatur Slang soufleer home decorater, player Mic immigrants, nine of us formed resemblance Somethin flashy, God dead-armed is nasty Peep the ornaments enough to make Shorty-Wop stare at me yo He killed the God might as well throw a chair at me Verse Four: Prince Rakeem/RZA Yo MC's wonder what's hip-hop thunder Tell you the truth it's just one nation under a groove Gettin down for the funk of it Like Fred Sanford in the biz... Yo one held his paraphenalia, a Wu memorabilia Mailed by the fortune teller, tried to tell ya Bout the group recruit we scoop up CREAM like Breyer's Then spread across the globe like telephone wires Thirty-six assorted, Shaolin imported Chambers been recorded, you're fuckin with the loops Time for royalty audit
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