Scrape y'all motherfuckers, this is my word
 When you see us -- when you see us flashing and shining
 and building, and adding on, y'all niggaz just watch
 Hear me? Only ones who we got respect for
 is them niggaz that we say peace to
 Hear me? Pay attention, put your shoes on

 Verse One: Raekwon the Chef

 Yo, my team be bellyaching hungry niggaz on the swarm again
 Pirahna nigga bite dick, yo Son, it's on again
 What up, he made a move, try to assist it
 Listen kid yo, you was born to be a pawn but I'm a bishop
 Back to the novel, yo Son, it's logical
 How you figure God, what, float on the track, flip the obstacle
 Now my proposal rips the global
 From California to courts, it's over God, so taste this tofu
 Remember, baggy jeans Timber-lands in November
 Shorty called me Santa in December
 But guess what, my Wally's got messed up
 Autograph pressed up what, blast enough to blow your rest up
 We scrape that, Land O' Lake that, Mazola rapper get you sent back
 Represent the gentlemens who bent that
 Flash medallions like Italians, la costra nostra
 We moving through your hood like we supposed ta, flexin
 Lexy Diamonds close the settlement, so keep the bust-ya-gun Boo
 Like that bad ass bitch in Dead Presidents
 Add on, the Billboard snored, check it now
 You get the gold dick award, it's like jail and it's the sixth floor
 Test me, boating in the S.E., now let's see
 Half of y'all niggaz built your rhyme from my stress tree
 Faggots, homos, yo, my flavor liver than a dobo
 Stay militant kid, push it like bolo
 You fucking idiot, playing with my Clan but you be fearing it
 Fake one, I'm guaranteed to make you take one
 Please, y'all niggaz money's getting low
 But could you come back doe, set up shop, and get the phat glow
 Tired of y'all, mostly inspired by y'all
 So what the deal now, blinkin with us or put your shield down, faggot

 [Raekwon]			[RZA]
 You fuck around punk		Bitch, fuckin punk niggaz
 We battle for cream nigga	Seven-Fifteen, yo

 Verse Two: RZA

 You want a pound crab, nah let his hand swing
 I ought to punch a hole in his palm with these pointy ass rings
 No more said, knew your chump ass was dead
 When I saw the four-four reflecting off your shiny forehead
 It's Wu-Tang nigga, ain't nuttin changed nigga
 Still shame on a nigga, who tried to run game
 You're version of perversion, fucking bitches on Persian rugs
 Washin niggaz like detergent, it's the surgeon
 Slugs propels from Bobby Steels twelve gauge front page Early Chronicle reads
 Hell Up in Gotham, take heed and protect your seeds
 We fall like autumn leaves, you lack tranquility
 in your rap utilities, to fuck with the abilities
 Raised like a sperm cell to the ovary
 Microphone post tone like a rotary phone, ancient poems of poetry
 Old tomes, explosive head bullets, black hooded
 Timberland footed ninjas, with full metal jacket clips
 And know how to put it in you
 Surrender your goods and your merchandise
 For no purchase price, I'm certainly a heist
 for your ices curtains and vice
 Come quietly, Wu-Tang Clan rules society
 Because of variety, so maintain your high anxiety
 And lead them to the fiery diary, irie... we irie

 I need eighteen points for my next joint, this high annointed king
 To make a deal, I be the one to appoint
 Steve Rifkind must have been sniffin, to catch somethin so dope
 That left Monika Linz pussy drippin
 I fuck hundreds of bitches, and spent millions of dollars
 and built with thousands of scholars, my life saga
 From the hill to horror, legal came brown like Nicaragua
 Gave birth to MC's, thieves and bank robbers
 We drove expensive whips and took world-wide trips
 And my dick's been sucked by the finest lips
 Fancy delicatessans, and the world's best refreshment
 But none of the above compare to the one-twenty lessons
 Or my queen and my seed, in the home that I rest in
 Into my zone get blown in ninety-nine sections

 Verse Three: Method Man

 This rhyme has no limitations, this time there's no hesitation
 Collectin mines at the door
 You want it niggaz it's yours, the flavor's raw
 What the fuck you think I'm flowin for, it's rhyme and reason
 Bite the bullet, niggaz is fowl and it's Duck Seazon
 We at odds til we even motherfucker
 Bad asses, high time, lower classes
 Taste mine, straight shots in dirty glasses
 Bring it to him, room service, under pressure
 and mad nervous, waving guns at the clergy
 Ticallion, we ain't worried, keep them sick niggaz seven-thirty
 Picture this, watch the birdy
 These Bastards is Ol and Dirty, with sharp hems
 that be stabbin you, pins and needles, needles and pins
 Nuff said, dick in your mouth, like Tempest Bled
 As I race track with thoroughbreds, duckin the feds

 Verse Four: Raekwon the Chef

 Yo, my ice look fly up on the keyboard Son
 Niggaz ran up on me Lord, praisin what we do, by the laws
 That's right, exile the fake, hit them niggaz like weight
 Feed a fool, let the fake evaporate
 Reconstruction, that's the whole science on my
 production, y'all niggaz guess who stuck Son, left his nuts sunk
 Switch, finger itch, starin at you like a bitch
 Maybe y'all niggaz snitched
 Youse a loner, Adidas shell-top with lye
 sip of Corona, read the rev report then bone her
 Buy you some jewels, here's some food
 Not neccessarily, mean to be rude Boo, check out the analoo
 We in the mushrooms, taste of Heineken accustomed
 Baggy jeans, thick ropes God, sliding through customs
 Chill, y'all niggaz know what time it is
 James Bond Beamers behind me, on Bacardi Limon
 Check out the pitch like Nolan Ryan, he cought a slug for lyin
 Yeah you was lyin, where's the cash, crying
 Militia, rolling in position, Casa Blanca Cuban Link Christian
 Lex retally back, whistlin, fake fucks...

 *sounds of swords clashing, and fighting*

 	How dare you rebuild the Wu-Tang Clan against me?
 	For that you're gonna DIE!

 I may not be the one to stop you, but somebody will very soon
 Also, the Wu-Tang Clan, will rise again
 There are many of us, all working for the good of the Wu-Tang

 	DIE