| See let a nigga come through with that bullshit | 
| Any time you pop that shit nigga | 
| I’ma tell you you can suck a dick, you can suck a pussy | 
| I know, it’ll come to what? | 
| Say what? | 
| Now I’ma let all you motherfuckers know | 
| See them knows that this is something you can’t fuck | 
| Whether you from Brooklyn, whether you from Manhattan | 
| You from Queens nigga | 
| I don’t give a fuck, where you be motherfucker! | 
| Where you reside… motherfucker! | 
| How you live? | 
| How you seeeeeeee | 
| Sort the stack outs, this one’s the blackout | 
| Three-fifty-seven to your mouth, blaow! | 
| Dirty, can you hear me? | 
| Rawness I’m inflicting | 
| It’s that G type slang that makes this real sickening | 
| Ignite the styles, I got my hand upon the trigger | 
| Starts from the smallest and hits the bigger nigga | 
| Yo, straight out the lava by them hell fires | 
| A known mental killer, born thriller, assassin of terror | 
| A hot bloody fatal mixture of carbon and water | 
| Homicidal manslaughter, death is the order | 
| Start the mission, travel like the speed of wind | 
| Through the valley of sin, I step to ville and murdered many men | 
| Serving justice in my vicinity | 
| (This is, Brooklyn, Zu!!) | 
| Za-za-za, za-za-za | 
| Zuh-za-zah, z-zz-zz-z-z-zz-zz-z-dah-duh-dnn-duh | 
| I get down, I get down, I crack your fucking crown | 
| Lay around and watch some real niggas break ground | 
| I can’t shop cause every bro blowing up the spot | 
| Hit rocks and niggas know | 
| Yo! | 
| Niggas grab the mic like the bites of a scorpion | 
| Nervous, that’s why the Zu brought me in | 
| Now bring em forth, like the tortures at the courts | 
| Before the case begin, first break me in | 
| His brain! | 
| And make sure he can’t maintain the calmness | 
| Ya harmless, watch how I bomb this | 
| Stage light now appears to be the Moon | 
| Now your Posse is your fucking Platoon | 
| Stale sound just flows through the air | 
| I’m like a ninja, once I send ya cold stares | 
| Then I get furious, imperious, the lyricist with the clearest rhyme | 
| Erupt to deduct your fucking mind | 
| Fuck shit up on the hurry-up | 
| Known for burying ducks through more styles than a monk | 
| Warning you chump, brain is out for lunch | 
| Given the power punch, soon to be paid like Donald Trump | 
| Never fall victim to no bitch | 
| Jerked my dick, but still got more hoes than a pimp | 
| And score more points than Shawn Kemp | 
| Keeping powerfully strong like the center on the Knicks | 
| Hut one, hut two, hut three, hut! | 
| Ol Dirty Bastard live and uncut | 
| (Shame on a nigga who tried to run game on a…) | 
| Got more props than the President | 
| My hardcore represent | 
| Blowing niggas back who never had this | 
| Cause I’m gifted, so you can gift wrap the shit | 
| I’m kicking and send it to your moms for Christmas | 
| And tell her Shorty Shit Stain sent it | 
| Soon to have more green than the Jolly Green Giant | 
| Cause niggas rap styles just down, it’s expired | 
| You should’ve stayed home instead of picking up a microphone | 
| But if you wanna run on up, like you tough | 
| I call your bluff and blow you down with my hardcore stuff | 
| I shine like twenty-four carat, niggas know… | 
| Roll and stroll with the party scene | 
| Nigga wanna know me as Mr. Clean | 
| Wza-wza-wza-wza-Wu-Tang, flip the script and | 
| Test my skill niggas, you’re tripping | 
| Drugged up from sniffing, you’re the one who’s riffing | 
| I’m not Opie, save that old shit for Andy Griffith | 
| Start to flip, slip cause you’re slipping | 
| While you sleep I be the God on point, with Scottie Pippen | 
| As I jump on stage, flip rip a show | 
| Strip and rip a ho, wayyy like Bo | 
| Jackson while I’m still taxing maxing | 
| Relaxing sitting back, silly attraction | 
| Again and again when I rock the jam | 
| Wanna see em up in the air, throw up your hand | 
| Introducing one-man band in town | 
| It’s wild, more the style couldn’t stand nigga | 
| When the jump stepped to the center | 
| Of the rhyme inventor, MCs' tormentor | 
| You get dap slapped, across the MC map | 
| Your ass that’s your ass on a whore shot | 
| Come on through I black and blue your whole crew | 
| Then I get Rudy with the Hong Kong Phoo' | 
| Ol Dirty Bastard, MC killer | 
| Money maker, Brooklyn, Shaolin style | 
| That I lay down like tile, then I get higher | 
| Here comes the illlll, type ruffer | 
| Style be untouched I’m leavin broken down grammars on the pen | 
| Who who what? | 
| What brings it? | 
| Tighter than your anus | 
| Chambers this name is for the deepest trainers | 
| Keep it stainless, steel, on time it is the windmill | 
| Deadly venom kills, at the last of the Sam’s Mill | 
| 60 Second, nucleus, attack on your set | 
| Hit you with the blast (yo close the door) | 
| Shabazz! |