(feat. Lounge-Lo, Solomon Childs, RZA)



[Intro: sample scratched up (RZA)]

[Inspectah Deck "Protect Ya Neck":] "Code red - danger!"

(Yo, aiyo)



[RZA]

36 crazy fists, Baby Chris

Kept a tray eighty, slip down near his ass split

Quick to spit, maybe hit

Anybody on the block by, he talk fly

Hawkeye, chalk lie on blocks, nobody's drop

Like hopscotch, boxes being drawn by cops

Maybe Chris, iller dealer will splat the skully box

Big head and his little seed Yaqub, terrible

So black he was blue, knew, when he grew

That he would study math, and learn to draw devil

And speak three toga, learn sheik yoga

Think with the force of Yoda

70 percent satisfied, 30 percent dissatisfied

So they fraternized and scatter lies

And build a brotherhood, with black hoods

We stack goods, livin' in backwards

Rollin' weed up in back woods



[Remedy]

Baby Chris got a cousin named Abe, he got the mind of a slave

Generous but the heart that's brave

Said he gave his whole life, came to save the kids

From the cradle to the grave, for what you think they did

On his praise to The Abbott, said he'd kill for the Wu

Started learning jujitsu, and kung fu too

Mastered and traits on how to rush gates

Learn to DJ and how to put explosives in crates

Now a few years past, wow, some learned fast

How to blast, quick dash, run and gun for the cash

Nothin' else mattered, paid his dues killin' crews that ratted

He was bruised and battered

With 2 twenty two's in his shoes, it's where he kept shit cookin'

Waitin' for his time to attack, who wasn't lookin'

36 crazy fists, cousin' Abe, Baby Chris

That and this, nobody gave two shits



[Lounge-Lo]

Aiyo, I clapped with the best of the clappers

Rapped with the best of the rappers

And I snapped with the best of the snappers

Hold on dog, let me tell you how I be heglin' hackers

Fuck the machine, I rock jeans, can't fuck with slackers

Know them lame ass niggas label, pickers and packers

I'd rather stay in the game with them, stickers and stackers

The kid fuck with building attackers, coke pushers

Dope felons, weed smokers and heat holders

Underworld street rollers, you know the rig

Throw a rock at the heads, who thought the beef was over

See the life, but the streets are colder

Momma love, got to watch her back, because niggas heats don't know her

But if it's indirected, it's gonna pop off in one second

And for the record, dog, best to start settin' it



[Solomon Childs]

My voice box of a thousand

And use for promotional use, for thugs who rep housin'

They can't name me, free Tommy Gunns, we pitbulls is arson

Body Brighton, the black mask, I blend in the dark wind

It becomes a new line cinema

With preaches of a project minister

Cuz of the bloodshed, he made movies

Wifies with attitudes, look, we talk groupies

Bust our guns at the storm like big web

And made an offer to the rev

That by any means necessary, I'mma die for the bread

Front page criminal, startin' a clean spread

Until you faggots, see you muthafuckas at the crossroads

With your heart wounds from me tossin' crossbows

And I ain't sendin' no cross codes

Believe when I tell you that

I got cats that'll hit you with the forty and open up your torso

These permanent red stains on your body like up North Pole

Reign supreme like I'm sittin' on Egyptian throne



[Outro: sample scratched up (Solomon Childs)]

[Inspectah Deck "Protect Ya Neck":] "Code red - danger!"

(You heard, for real)