All you hoes, be cryin' for these bitches All you niggas, be cryin' for these hoes
"Both hands clusty" Ghost, "Pullin' out gats" "Double barreled" Meth, "Blew off the burner kinda dusty" "We back, don't test" Raekwon, "Bring it to em proper, potnah" "Comin' from the thirty-six chamber" "Math, let the plate spin", "Many brothers y'all be sparkin'" "Stray shots, all on the block that stays hot" "If ya fuck with Wu, we gots ta fuck witchu"
Who the fuck knocked our buildings down? Who the man behind the World Trade massacres, step up now Where the four planes at huh is you insane bitch? Fly that shit over my hood and get blown to bits! No disrespect, that's where I rest my head I understand you gotta rest yours true, nigga my people's dead America, together we stand, divided we fall Mr. Bush sit down, I'm in charge of the war!
Yes yes y'all, the I-N-S bless y'all Stop hearts like cholesterol, let's brawl Never fall, tear it down like a wreckin' ball Role call where my niggas that's one for all And all for one, we draw the guns on impulse Cash in the envelope, spend it on kinfolk Then smoke a ounce as we count mills Providin' you pure ecstasy without pills
[Chorus:] Y'all know the rules, we don't fuck with fools man How the fuck did we get so cool man? Never ever disrespect my crew If ya fuck with Wu we gots ta fuck witchu
Y'all dogs better guard ya grills, it's all real We live from ? it's the God I-Reelz Yo wonderful, spark the blillz Let me build with the people for the mills I'm rollin with the Rebel I-Ill from Killa Hill, peace to Brownsville Brothers that'll kill for the will of the righteous Twenty-five to lifers, true and livin snipers You wait like "Sixth Sense" 'til hard to kill
How you livin' StreetLife? I'm surrounded by criminals Serial killers tote guns without the serial High-tech, street intellect, all digital Project original, sheisty individual New York's bravest, always supply you with the latest We hall of famers, and still hit you with the greatest Took a year hiatus, now you wanna hate us Thanks to all you haters for all the cream you made us
Sendin' letters to ? my cousin in Wendy's on Viacom At home, it's worth money, I adorns Order drinks, all real niggas order your minks yo We got the fitteds on, lookin' all fink Daddy everybody get money from now on Payday flash Visas livin' like, Easter everyday Don't fuck Benz, rather a 430 That shit that float through water, eyeball come up, drop birdies yo
We can eat right, or we can clap these toys I'm with StreetLife, ain't never been a Backstreet Boy Who y'all kiddin'? Tryin' to act like my shoe fittin' Confused with ya head up yo' ass like who's shittin'? It's Hot Nixon, same team same position Battin' average three-five-seven and still hittin' Y'all still bitchin', still lame and still chicken I'm still here, one leg missin' and still kickin' Cause I'm hard! Hard like a criminal Love like a tennis shoe, throw slug to finish you It's the Method Man, for short Mr. Meth I can tell this motherfucker ain't Wu, look at his neck
"Comin' from the thirty-six chamber" "Bring it to em proper, potnah" "Wu, Tang, Wu, Tang"
It's Wu-Tang, rushin' yo' gang, crushin' the game Pretty thugs, clutchin' they chain, hand cuppin' they thing Who get strange, gassed up playin with flames Let a nigga take off his shades, see what I'm sayin' is