| En garde, I’ll let you try my Wu-Tang style | 
| I’d like to try your Wu-Tang style, let’s begin, then | 
| Shaolin shadowboxing and the Wu-Tang sword style | 
| If what you say is true, the Shaolin and the Wu-Tang could be dangerous | 
| Do you think your Wu-Tang sword can defeat me? | 
| Wu-Tang! | 
| Wu-Tang! | 
| Wu-Tang! | 
| Wu-Tang! | 
| Ayo, ayo, Wu-Tang forever, who rhyme better? | 
| We too clever, the boom bap’s back, harder than ever | 
| R.I.P. | 
| O.D.B, comin' through like Killa Bee | 
| Ever since I heard Enter the 36 in '93 | 
| You cannot defeat my Wu-Tang style, I leave 'em all dismembered | 
| Fuck a mumble rap, that shit won’t never be remembered | 
| Not even a contender, no, pretender, best surrender | 
| My agenda is killin' shit, they feelin' this (Sinatra) | 
| Yeah, we live and thorough | 
| Assassinatin' every single muthafuckin' borough | 
| From Staten to Brooklyn to Queens, the Bronx and Harlem | 
| All the way to Maryland, yeah, we comin' for all 'em | 
| Bobby Tarantino to the Digital | 
| My shit is pivotal, smokin' chronic, no medicinal | 
| Who you know assemble the Clan like Voltron? | 
| The one and only Logic, the God, the don, I’m gone | 
| Ay-yo, Logic, what up? | 
| We gon' let these muthafuckas try this Wu-Tang style | 
| Yo, yo, yo, yo, kaboom! | 
| Guess who stepped in the room | 
| It’s Ghostface, gold plates, old truths, more cake | 
| Intelligent brothers with nine hoods, movin' snowflakes | 
| Guillotine your head, last scene in the showcase | 
| Push weight, this Colgate, tre-eights and old gates | 
| Exfoliate those we most hate, we don’t associate | 
| We wear robes that you can’t even pronunciate | 
| We eat foods where you can’t even pronounce you ate | 
| Cribs where the floor just rises up and rotates | 
| Locations low-key, can’t even locate | 
| Twin nina sisters with the beam, we all soulmates | 
| Team makin' us so much cream, we bought gold plates | 
| Yo, mountains of haze in the crib of my blades | 
| It gets messy underneath the dresser, the gauge | 
| 57 MB, yo, metallic green, seats is piped off | 
| Seize 'em old tracks, unite through 'em | 
| The kitchen is my palace, get your dance on | 
| While we just levitate with trees, get your branch on | 
| I’m known to wil' out, put the cams on | 
| Jewels down, the sets dip, my gems got grams on | 
| A specialist when I’m bakin' | 
| Rhymes be comin' out, we makin' | 
| We challengin' these chumps for lumps | 
| Here’s the statement—stop hatin' | 
| The crew is all about gettin' this cake in | 
| You know about me, you relatin' | 
| The enigma, the stigmas that the RZA and the GZA | 
| Both lyrical prolific, fixtures of rap scriptures | 
| Mixtures of hipsters, weed smokers, and beer drinkers | 
| Prince and the Pauper, spiritual clear-thinkers | 
| Cake in the oven, Superbad like McLovin | 
| Huggin' all four boroughs, puffin' herb with my cousin | 
| Academically speaking, rap vocabulary’s weakenin' | 
| I felt it comin' like The Weeknd when these starboys start tweakin' | 
| Sporadic pill-poppin' of OxyContin | 
| III-gotten sexual intercourse make shorty wop feel rotten | 
| The travesty-tapestry of microphone mastery has been refuted | 
| Diluted, broken down to a catastrophe | 
| But cats still get the trophy, hit y’all with that «Okie-dokie» | 
| Burt Reynolds, Bandit, goddamnit | 
| Where the fuck is Smokey Bear when you need one? | 
| I got a light-beam gun | 
| I’ll blast a hole in your chest that you can’t bleed from | 
| But you’ll die through iniquity, plus stupidity of that trickery | 
| My verse got it hot up in here, not the humidity | 
| You can never get rid of me, step back and consider me | 
| Wu Killa Bee, but I’m not big on bigotry | 
| Old school on this track, I feel invincible | 
| This new school ain’t really got rules and lack the principles | 
| Got more clowns than the Motown, they puttin' critical | 
| The gun, Smokey Robinson, you need a Miracle | 
| Go back, homie, back when rappers used to be lyrical | 
| When nine out of ten of his friends used to be criminals | 
| The stats, homie, all these killas usin' subliminals | 
| Y’all don’t even smile in your pictures, you dudes is miserable | 
| Witty unpredictable torture over your physical | 
| Struggle bar, used to pour water over the cereal | 
| Another bar, reppin' my squad, not individual | 
| But one Nation under God, that’s indivisible | 
| My time critical, hands off I’m digital | 
| Me and my Ladybug, back when the planet was Digable | 
| I’m cool like that, my cash rule like that | 
| I’m classic, Patti LaBelle, Voulez Vous like that, come on | 
| It’s only Logic, we got 'em mobbin' in the mosh pit | 
| Fifth Brother, INS hotter than the tropics | 
| The hot shit I drop quick | 
| Major player, watch my stock lift | 
| Razor-blade sharpness regardless to whom or what | 
| Sound boy, turn that music up | 
| Naysayer, you ain’t even got a clue what’s up | 
| Deadly melody, the sickness, the remedy | 
| Everything circulate back around eventually | 
| Witty unpredictable, talent all-natural | 
| Gain, Wu-Tang pumpin' through your veins | 
| Twenty-five years, still more of the same | 
| The flow like water with the boilin' flame | 
| INS, your highness, they callin' my name | 
| Boy, I wet the scene similar to fallin' rain | 
| In our own lane, y’all soundin' all the same | 
| Tell 'em Wu-Tang is on your brain | 
| Survival of the fittest be cold days with no money | 
| They don’t want me with stacks, they better take it from me | 
| You know the currency gone soon as you break a twenty | 
| So I ain’t down if you ain’t talkin' that band language | 
| Dear Lord, I’m tryna buy me a train with it | 
| An airplane, see me flyin' to Spain with it | 
| But money don’t make me, and I ain’t gonna change with it | 
| I’m in the hood, lookin' good, the way I came with it | 
| Do it for the Cs, they understood the game with it | 
| We gave birth when we understood the pain with it | 
| When we create wars, everybody is a gangbanger | 
| We killin' each other, but we all got the same anger | 
| Never go against the grain, homie, that’s hateful | 
| Another day in the life for us to be grateful | 
| Spread love, homie, yeah, get a plateful | 
| It’s better to stay full, so let’s make moves | 
| I know your momma told you that I was a great dude | 
| These dirty-ass cops, they kill and rape you | 
| On some Jason shit, might Crystal in the Lake you | 
| What? | 
| What, what? | 
| They might Crystal in the Lake you | 
| Boom bap blast’ll blow your sleeves off | 
| Our Flashback Jacks are somethin' to feed off | 
| Smoke and roast ya, the No. 9 Potion | 
| Pull that shit, son, we open the ocean | 
| Who gives a fuck who’s snortin' and drinkin' and smokin'? | 
| You get killed for jokin', everybody’s hopin' | 
| That’s another level of emotion | 
| Food stamps niggas doin' grocery | 
| Police wanna grope me | 
| Perp walk, then nigga street-talk | 
| We bury niggas in sea salt | 
| I carry the torch where I leave off | 
| I’m givin' bitches somethin' to breathe on | 
| I rip off a shoulder to lean on | 
| It’s fair game, it’s two in a lane, she took two trains | 
| And none of my rhymes are two and the same | 
| Nigga get cooked on a open flame | 
| I’m a hillbilly, Park Hill-trained | 
| My rhyme starts riots in the mountains | 
| Thirty-six million and countin' | 
| The harder they come, the harder I go | 
| Loosen up my arms, can I get comfortable? | 
| Stay on my tip-toes, old-school Wu beat | 
| This is a flip-phone, dude, your slips showin' | 
| Where I come from it stays snowin' | 
| The grammar is raw, I’m slammin' the door | 
| Beez bang bong in your jaw | 
| I hit 'em in the head with the hammer of Thor | 
| Stars and bars, makes me a general | 
| Anything less, makes me a criminal | 
| Gotta dig deep for these Wu-Tang minerals | 
| G.O.D., shadowbox with the L.O.G.I.C | 
| On the count of three, Wu-Tang | 
| First, master your breathin' | 
| I’m mental ass-whoopin', I’m teachin' when I’m speakin' | 
| I’m a champion from Brooklyn | 
| I’m movin' super-ninjas and Shaolin executioners | 
| Avenger, a righteous defender | 
| Grandmaster from the 36th Chamber | 
| Toad style is mentally strong, so strengthen your arms | 
| To hold my microphone you need iron palms | 
| Remain calm, Jamel Irief | 
| Wise chief, Wu-Tang poison clansman from the east, yeah | 
| Enter a world of a universal mind of one kind | 
| A thick swarm of words that’s expressed in one rhyme | 
| Food for thought, impossible sliders with the seasoning Regardless, | 
| I speak logic—clear reasoning | 
| The uncivilized, get the mineral lines, quartz | 
| Self-directed, calculated, controlled thoughts | 
| A point-of-view of the thinkers | 
| Monumental architecture, amazing as the Incas | 
| (Sinatra) (Wu-Tang) | 
| W.T.C., ah-ha | 
| The faculty | 
| Ain’t nothin' goin' on, don’t nothin' move | 
| Nobody slide, nobody get hurt | 
| En garde, I’ll let you try my Wu tang style | 
| I’d like to try your Wu tang style, let’s begin, then | 
| Shaolin shadowboxing and the Wu tang sword style | 
| If what you say is true, the Shaolin and the Wu Tang could be dangerous | 
| Do you think your Wu Tang sword can defeat me? |