| Take that motherfucker
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| GOOD MORNING VIETNAM!
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| Yeah, good morning to all you motherfuckin notty-headed niggaz
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| Word to the camoflouge large niggaz
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| Bitch niggaz fuckin my body
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| Bring that fuckin meth in here
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| Yo yo yo yo Now we gonna drink some good Nightrain
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| and yo, set it off
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| Verse One: Raekwon the Chef
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| Champion gear that I rock, you get your boots knocked
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| Then attack you like a pit that lock shit DOWN
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| As I come and freaks the sound, hardcore
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| but giving you more and more, like ding!
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| Nah shorty, get you open like six packs
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| Killer Bees attack, flippin what, murder one, phat tracks
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| A’ight? |
| I kick it like a Night Flite!
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| Word life, I get that ass while I’m fulla spite!
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| Check the method from Bedrock, cause I rock ya head to bed
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| Just like rockin what? |
| Twin glocks!
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| Shake the ground while my beats just break you down
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| Raw sound, we going to war right now
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| So, yo, bombin
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| We Usually Take All Niggaz Garments
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| Save ya breath before I bomb it Verse Two: Method Man
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| I be that insane nigga from the psycho ward
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| I’m on the trigger, plus I got the Wu-Tang sword
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| So how you figure that you can even fuck with mine?
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| Hey, yo, RZA! |
| Hit me with that shit one time!
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| And pull a foul, niggaz save the beef on the cow
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| I’m milkin this ho, this is MY show, tical
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| The FUCK you wanna do? |
| More than Spike Lee’s Do
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| I’m like a sniper, hyper off the ginseng root
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| PLO style, buddha monks with the owls
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| So who’s the fucking man? |
| Meth-Tical
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| On the chessbox
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| Verse Three: Inspector Deck
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| Yo, yeah, yo I leave the mic in body bags, my rap style has
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| The force to leave you lost, like the tribe of Shabazz
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| Murderous material, made by a madman
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| It’s the mic wrecker, Inspector, bad man
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| From the bad lands of the killer, rap fanatic
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| Representing with the skill that’s iller
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| Dare to compare, get pierced just like an ear
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| The zoo-we-do-wop-bop strictly hardware
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| Armed and geared cause I just broke out the prison
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| Charged by the system — for murdering the rhythm!
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| Now, lo and behold, another deadly episode
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| Bound to catch another fuckin charge when I explode
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| Verse Four: Ghostface Killer
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| Slammin a hype-ass verse til ya head burst
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| I ramshack dead in the track, and that’s that
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| Rap assassin, fastin, quick to blast and hardrock
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| I ran up in spots like Fort Knox!
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| I’m hot, top notch, Ghost thinks with logic
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| Flashback’s how I attacked your whole project
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| I’m raw, I’m rugged and raw! |
| I repeat, if I die
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| My seed’ll be ill like me Approachin me, you out of respect, chops ya neck
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| I get vexed, like crashing up a phat-ass Lex'
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| So clear the way, make way, yo! |
| Open the cage
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| Peace, I’m out, jettin like a runaway slave
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| Verse Five: Prince Rakeem/RZA
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| Yo Ya gettin stripped from ya garments, boy, run ya jewels
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| While the meth got me open like falopian tubes
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| I bring death to a snake when he least expect
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| Ain’t a damn thing changed, boy, Protect Ya Neck
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| Ruler Zig Zag, Zig-Allah jam is fatal
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| Quick to stick my Wu-Tang sword right through ya navel
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| Suspenseful, plus bein bought through my utensil
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| The pencil, I break strong winds up against your
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| Abbot, that run up through your county like the Maverick
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| Caps through the tablets, I gots to make the fabrics
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| Verse Six: Ol Dirty Bastard
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| Are you, uh, ah, uh Are you a warrior? |
| Killer? |
| Slicin shit like a samurah
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| The Ol’Dirty Bastard VUNDABAH
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| Ol’Dirty clan of terrorists
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| Comin atcha ass like a sorceress, shootin’that PISS!
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| Niggaz be gettin on my fuckin nerves
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| Rhymes they be kickin make me wanna kick they fuckin ass to the curb
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| I got funky fresh, like the old specialist
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| A carrier, messenger, bury ya This experience is for the whole experience
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| Let it be applied, and THEN DROP THAT SCIENCE
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| Verse Seven: Genius/GZA
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| My my my
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| My Clan is thick like plaster
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| Bust ya, slash ya Slit a nigga back like a Dutch Master Killer
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| Style jumped off and Killa, Hill-er
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| I was the thriller in the Ali-Frazier Manilla
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| I came down with phat tracks that combine and interlock
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| Like getting smashed by a cinder block
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| Blaow! |
| Now it’s all over
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| Niggaz seeing pink hearts, yellow moons
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| orange stars and green clovers |