Lyrics Windmill - Wu-Tang Clan

Windmill

He get out of line, break his fucking arm\nYou know how it go, word up\nAin’t playing no games with these niggaz man\nNone at all, man, no more, none of that\nAiyyo, jump out the Acura, crazy heavy, what’s popping?\nUs locking the game, word to every hand on the lock men\nStreet gwop, everybody eats, sweep blocks\nThis is a message, ain’t go no grams, we gon' beat box\nStudy like lessons, niggaz in the game biting the grain\nYou knowing where it came from, stop it\nYou thought we wasn’t coming? You dumbing, you blunted again\nWatch Lex get that dough out your pocket\nRhyme all 'pallegic can’t nothing move when I rhyme\nWhen I drop lines it’s law out in Egypt\nLove ups, don’t need no batteries now, what?\nThe only niggaz that’ll glow’ll be us\nYo, throw me in Sin City, leave me with the vultures and bats\nThen give me two weeks to bubble like Kim titties\nDirt Dog, we miss you, now it’s time to murder the game\n'Cuz if things change, you know it ain’t against Wu\nWhat am I supposed to say? Yeah\nSomebody tell me what do I do\nWhat am I supposed to say? Yeah\nWe keep it hot, keep the heat on the block\nWe never stop, drawing water up until it begin to drop\nRaining with the patchwork of puzzles\nThat was written in the year of the dragon\nMore raw than you could ever imagine\nHow much of a great blessing to a rap city\nWhere the youth is organically fed\nFrom the witty, unpredictable talent, natural game is lyrical\nAnalyze the picture, the portrait, the visual\nA Cuban Link Chef cooks spaghetti that’s untied\nRagu nigga whose tomatoes are sun dried\nHe gave y’all niggaz whiplash from bling bling\nBut my rhyme’ll give you hot flash and mood swings\nMath shed light on divine secrets then science leaked it\nFor the lower level creatures that can’t peep it\nI observe MCs, regardless from a neighboring world\nWhich is ten times the sharpness\nWhat am I supposed to say? Yeah\nSomebody tell me what do I do\nLet the track wind and your mind flow free\nRemain conscious on this ride to ya best ability\nInfinity, back to the source of which it came\nEnergy, see it changed forms\nAtoms being born, never ending\nOn and on and on and travel with me\nNot trying to convince the pack that it’s a fact\nFor those who can’t adapt, I lived it, shitted it back\nWe have agreed\nYou’ll feel the impact of the truth when I’ll squeeze\nThe brain feels something pop, hip hop, locked in texts\nFat checks, fly whips, jewelry, chicks\nEnough kicks, fitted crown, buttoned down\nUnderneath your white T lies the four pound\nThis is forty-five minutes of menacing\nDismantling any MC opponent stepping in the zone\nGet your face blown\nWhat am I supposed to say? Yeah\nSomebody tell me what do I do\nObserve the word, when I speak, it’s the truth that’s heard\nTrue to the curb, Wu classic is the new birth\nSpreading the blessing across seven continents\nArm of the trench, there’s no form of defense\nEntertainment, nine swords swing rapid\nCheck the techniques, first bow to The Abbott\nWitty, unpredictable, gritty individual\nValid if it’s actual, talent and it’s natural\nGame, rugged like the train, pump it in your vein\nI and I, ride or die, under the name\nW-U, the primary, your secondary\nDefinitely not necessary, the legendary\nYou printed the blueprints to do this shit\nMoving the youth in the bricks\nSpitting poison tipped darts that rip hearts\nThrough the chest when I manifest my sick art\nSpeaking my mind, fall in line when I spit mine\nStill in my prime, still’ll shine 'til it quit time\nIf this is a crime, find me guilty, I’m so sublime\nSo rapid with rhymes, same slacking is asanine\nRevealing the truth, catching feelings, it’s still the Wu\nGorilla the booth, body armored, I’m killa proof\nIn living proof, I’m the wittiest, unpredictable\nMost talented rap motherfucker you ever listened to\nI’m a hustler, I grind 'til my pack is done\nGet a seed mad knowledge so they crack and run\nCan’t nobody fuck with me, I’m just too nice\nSmack niggas in they head every time I write\nYo, I’m straight from Park Hill where the guns is popping\nWhere them little black kids do they grocery shopping\nGo to school fucked up, it’s Africa Island\nWe poor in the bricks but inside it’s nothing but talent