| The Wu-Tang slang is mad dangerous
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| The Wu-Tang slang is mad dangerous
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| Yo, yo
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| Champagne nights on the corner mad heavy
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| Around the time when I was beefing with Wizzy
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| Starks, State, and Claybourne drawers
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| Dickin' bitches down, they man come through
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| Damn near kissed the ground
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| Jumping out of big shit with Benetton pajamas on
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| Line my soldiers up, strategize, then I move my pawns
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| Should’ve been Italian how I’m getting that parmesan
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| Talkin' bout the ones you keep putting those commas on
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| And I’ma keep hope alive
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| 'Cause mad lil' niggas look up to me outside
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| Breaking dawn blunted, yums in they mouth
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| I drop a jewel, they see the C-ciphers then bounce
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| Peace God, you see Rae, yo, tell 'em I said
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| I was in the East, a nigga died, but cut off his dreads
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| I’ll be back around 6PM
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| Juma prayers around 1 o’clock
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| Plus I gotta pick up these gems
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| 'Cause it’s going down tonight at the Garden
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| Mary and Maxwell, Drew Hill, I’m supposed to be starring
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| You know how I do, son
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| Nugget stones with the blue ones
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| And coming with me is a few guns
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| I think he’s on that shit again
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| Twisting niggas out hard, gettin' rid of 'em
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| You gamble on rap, yo, my bid is in
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| Bet against me?
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| You own a hat where your fuckin' head can’t fit up in
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| I think he’s on that shit again
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| Twisting niggas out hard, gettin' rid of 'em
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| You gamble on rap, yo, my bid is in
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| Bet against me?
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| You own a hat where your fuckin' head can’t fit up in
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| Telekinesis, simple instrumental thesis
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| I could hop on a track, relax, then remain speechless
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| Peep this, I closed down the Kith store for thousand dollar sneakers
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| Bought a dozen pair with 'em, shared 'em with his cousin
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| Wu-Tang slang boomerang back like Reggie Hudlin
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| From New York City to Philly to Los Angeles
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| The Wu-Tang slang is mad dangerous
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| You can’t outthink the RZA, nigga, I’ll make your brain shrink
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| My lyrics are vitamins, I go from A to zinc
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| And yeah, I got that iron just in case the emcee think
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| He can take it to the streets, then watch his ass become extinct
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| Like a Tyrannosaurus Rex
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| I turn your fuckin' face to Jonah Hex
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| Ayy, yo, last night my sugar was five hundred
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| That Log Cabin syrup on them flapjacks took it to sky hundred
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| That’s thirteen units of insulin
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| Brought it back down now everything is official in like Michelin
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| Counting bread like Maserati Rick out in Michigan
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| And all my old girlfriends is jumping on my dick again
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| I think he’s on that shit again
|
| Twisting niggas out hard, gettin' rid of 'em
|
| You gamble on rap, yo, my bid is in
|
| Bet against me?
|
| You own a hat where your fuckin' head can’t fit up in
|
| I think he’s on that shit again
|
| Twisting niggas out hard, gettin' rid of 'em
|
| You gamble on rap, yo, my bid is in
|
| Bet against me?
|
| You own a hat where your fuckin' head can’t fit up in |