| Yeah
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| Ten G mics and shit
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| Mics and men, books and pen
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| Decent rhymes, hooks and lines
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| One time, where do we begin?
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| The gritty rugged lands of Shaolin
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| Where proud men went from moving crack rocks to moving mountains
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| Moving crowds and making mothers proud now
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| Walk out of places where our people wasn’t allowed in
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| I took a hi-hat, a snare, and a kick drum
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| A bass, a G-note, turned it into hit songs
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| Now every we make forty G’s, nigga please, Killa Bees
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| Pay a quarter mill for the emcees at night, aight?
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| I kick it like a Nike flight
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| 25 years later, who thought that we could be greater?
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| The name of Wu-Tang gets spread on both sides of the equator
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| The RZArector grew to be a movie director
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| Still smoke blunts with the Meth and rock mics with Inspectah
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| Still crash bars with Shallah
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| And my brother Divine, he still push the flyest cars
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| But he added a yacht to his repertoire
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| And they marvel how the Jugger still caked with Tony Starks
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| While The RZA and U-God still shake the fatal darts
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| Cappadonna try to put a hole inside your heart
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| Jamel Irief push that chess piece across the board
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| With the sound of a sword bein' released from its sheath
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| And Ol' Dirty Shimmy Shimmy Ya from beneath
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| And Power still got that rugged gear in the streets
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| It’s Wu-Tang's «Mics and Men», we Killer Bees
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| Mathematics stay craft-matic on the beats
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| I’m in the MKX with the opposite sex
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| Trying to take her from the suburb back to the projects
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| Money, chicks, fast cars, that’s my obsess
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| I ain’t obligated to nothing except contracts
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| Honey do you do dirty, niggas is still contacts
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| Lovin' the babes daily, feedin' 'em blowback
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| Can’t let nothing walk by but a bubble ass
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| Get money, pop bottles, then we double the cash
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| Slip by the shop, other niggas’ll fall back
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| See Divine on the ocean in the yacht
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| Flip money bags when our Hulu shit pop
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| Ferragamo belt with the Gucci bought
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| Yo, you can’t tell me nothing bout the Coogi, hah
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| When I was the one out there making the shit hot
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| When you was in the spot, you was just a young snot
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| I was in the ball game pitching the rock
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| Wu-Tang forever, we always on grind
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| Like Diddy told you, we ain’t never gon' stop
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| Man, have you not heard that one word given will have you missing?
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| Listen to the fly piano, Wu-Gambino soprano
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| Deck and Dino, owners of their own casino
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| RZA keynote, Stoudemire, young Amar’e
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| Flow hotter than the Kalahari
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| Skipping off the rim of the snare
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| Every rhyme line rich without the line combined
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| With the power refined
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| See my mind shine brighter than Einstein
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| Shallah pen bleed then the dawn is my time
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| So run, tell a friend, you can check it on Showtime
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| It’s Wu, Mics and Men |