West Coast Wu-Tang

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Whoo Ha! Backpack raps with gats in it Don't get your cap peeled by the black menace K-Dot thoroughbred Move like a militant soldier, on point like a pyramid A forced to be reckoned with, fuck with the best shit Like the strongest manure, I'm ready when you are This is it, I'm in the lab cooking up all day Fuck 'em up all day like a nympho I been dope since S-Curl waves Trying to convince hoes I got good hair Knowing damn well there's chemicals there I'm in the hood with the seventeen-year-olds that's on hood patrol And they want stripes, so they shoot off bikes And you know, any moment you can lose your life So kiss your kids and hug your wife, and whatnot, yo I spar with a dragon, he tried to throw a flame But I ducked, then I stabbed him and came out the battle laughin' That's a metaphor for any rapper who wants it I smack 'em til their nose is running You know the hoes is coming, if I'm there And the hoes is cumming, once we hit the hotel There's no assumptions Cool out before I move out, hop on the 105 Do about 105 before your ass gets threw out the back seat ("There's a dead guy on the freeway") Oh, It's not Dot? Tell the medics it's okay A beast when the beat break You probably think I'm dope, like this the realest shit I wrote But to me, it's a throw-away I stare at the four walls and rap like I'm mad at God Nice enough to throw a spear at Nas Launch at Jay, matter fact, let me take that back See, I don't fuck with real legends in rap like you do I'm crucial, concealed by real Crips and Suwoo Is it real, son? Is it really real, son? Is it really real, son? Is it really real? Tell me how you feel, son, tell me how you feel, son Tell me how you feel, son, tell me how you feel You rappers got nothing for me when Soun-Sounwave record me Every MC, I'm sure to rip them, I guarantee you will forgive them Come again, no introduction, you know my name Soul brother, deuces suck the juice from my ding-a-ling Orangutan arms, banging niggas like a set When I speak, they fucking silent, like sex for the deaf Violence, I play it like violins In the orchestra, treat you like vitamins Then spit you back out Like a verse I had way back before I had it mapped out Rip a page out the Almanac, then cross reference when I wreck shit I wish jaw bone fractures on all of you rappers bumping your gums Like the measles when the record meets the needle Heads spinning like a twelve-inch, Smoking the best Celtic Like I shot Larry Bird, follow my word Big Herb, ill with it, I need a hospital gown You need fifty-four cards, deal with it You may think I'm killing it, but I'm healing it Like a bitch in the club' shoe game – touché Ay yo yo, the flow potent Who's more focused? Kick doors open Deliver the golden opus, leave with two guns smoking It's me, the podium closing, a poet well-spoken The gropes is most consistent with imminent penmanship Mind-bending, co-existing with the written Verbal assassin, internally smashing Spazzing on tracks – translation: I'm disgusting in action A lyrical glutton busting over Sounwave productions Y'all don't want nothing The sum of all fears Mercury rising, I'm summer all year I sixteen 'em to death and wish them the best I guess that's the gift and a curse, you see my pattering Y'all still rapping like that's what's happening I write rhymes with fire on stone tablets, peep the malice I'm a monster, ya Boy running like William Joseph Crawford Is it real, son? Is it really real, son? Is it really real, son? Is it really real? Tell me how you feel, son, tell me how you feel, son Tell me how you feel, son, tell me how you feel You rappers got nothing for me when Soun-Sounwave record me Every MC, I'm sure to rip them, I guarantee you will forgive them Straight up Don't get ate up Put rappers in quicksand Dot leaned on 'em like kickstands I'm so hot, kids put me in their iPod Even atheists play my shit and say, "My God Jesus, Joseph, and Mary, he's nice" – don't compare me to them Just compare me to Mike Jordan When I record and the verse and the chorus is ill You can land in lab of fortune when biting my skills, playa Watch I lay-up, bar after bar, like I'm trying to build a gate up See me on the way up, like an elevator I'ma let you take the stairs That metaphor meaning I'm already there (Greatness) I'm in the booth with an apron Cooking up shit like Martha Stewart was my bitch – amen Stay on the curb like a spray paint can Blowing herb with my nigga Herb Fuck what you niggas heard We the new West Coast Wu-Tang, bitch And I'm the best, think less? You can suck my dick Who from the West can kill it like us? Give me their name Now I take 'em to the house of pain Top Dawg headquarters Is it real, son? Is it really real, son? Is it really real, son? Is it really real? Tell me how you feel, son, tell me how you feel, son Tell me how you feel, son, tell me how you feel You rappers got nothing for me when Soun-Sounwave record me Every MC, I'm sure to rip them, I guarantee you will forgive them