Yo [yeah] Check it out son, check it out son
 Yo, [Wu, can I get a soo] live in the place to be
 You got the capital G
 G to the A-M-C
 Givin a mad shout out to the Ranch Crew from the old school
 And we gonna take y'all back, knowhatI'msayin?
 Lyrical sorcerors right here, the fathers, the cream of the crop son
 [Yo check it]

 Chorus: The Genius

 Well if you livin in the world today
 You be hearin the slang that the Wu-Tang say
 Niggaz that front we don't handle em
 So we blast em, alright, well OK

 Well if you like the wicked sound then clap man
 And if the women love it too well then raise your hands
 But only raise your hands if you're Sure
 [Punk niggaz shatter like a glass jaw, break it]

 Verse One: The Genius

 My rhyme gross weight be into combination
 was too heavy for the Chevy's is chased out the station
 Double-edged was the guillotine that beheaded it and
 gassed up, fucking with some regular unleaded shit
 Heads roll on hillsides behind ropes that
 bind-in, X marks the spot on the scope
 Heavenly art, military is necessary, it's a gamble
 MC's bet they best at every
 power move, parable ditties might harm
 if tampered with, set off and strike like pipe bombs
 Flashbacks to the Duel of the Iron Mic
 Look out for these fatal flying spikes, of massive
 sleep-holds, put strangle on commercial angle
 Microphone cords tangled from being Star Spangled
 Now who could ever say they heard of this?
 My motherfuckin style is mad murderous

 Chorus: (in reverse verse)

 Interlude: Method Man, Genius

 Well what you know about MCin?
 Yo, I know a lot
 Well can you demonstrate somethin nigga?
 Huh, I'd rather not
  I'm talkin bout stacks cuzin
 Nigga that's what I got
 Cash Rules over all
 Well Cash Rules the spot

 Verse Two: The Genius

 My preliminary attack keep cemetaries packed
 Of niggaz who think it ain't like that
 MC's are gunned down like being run down with mad trucks
 then God struck, religious niggaz call it bad luck
 Raps of led, you got caught up in the web
 now bees are stingin, yo that niggaz them singin
 I'll be swingin swords strictly based on keyboards
 Unbalanced like elephants and ants on see-saws
 I throw raps that attack like the Japs on Pearl Harbor
 MC's be out like bank robbers
 Fleeing the scene, to be a sole survivor
 DJ the getaway driver
 Tried to dip but he dive I socialize on vocal vibes
 On tracks stabbed up with razor sharp knives
 Criminal subliminal minded rappers find it
 Hard to define it, when narrow is the gate
 for fat tapes and then played out and out of date
 Then I construct my thoughts on site to renovate
 And from that point, the God made a statement
 Draftin tracements, replacements in basements
 materials in sheet-rock, to sound proof the beat box
 and microscopic optics received through the boxes
 obnoxious topic, major labels, flavor tropical
 Punchlines, that's unstoppable
 Ring like shots from glocks that attract cops
 around the clubs and try to shut down the hip-hop
 But we only increase if everything is peace
 Father U C King the police

 Chorus

 Chorus