(feat. Christbearer, Monk, Stone Mecca)

		

		[Chorus: Tru James]

My woman, and my money, don't own me...

I've got to, keep holding, my own



[RZA]

Heaven, heaven...

The dangerous dynamite dosage, mind full of explosives

Digital brain is the closest to Moses

Civilizing came, the flame inside the hoister

Revitalize the game, the names on the poster

The mask with no cape, the flash'll crush grapes

The dancer on the lap, the ass wit no face

It's shaped like an ace, say your grace before you taste it

Haste makes waste, slow down or you ain't wait

The bunny in the car look like an Indian squall

The honey's in the jar, the money's in the bra

It's funny hahaha, how dummies, hahaha

Think cuz we call 'em sunny, they can be a star

I implement the instrument, disintegrate the 10 percent

You entered the square, but you don't know where the circle went

You ain't worth the cent, you cursed, I Birthed the Prince

Drenched the baby from creators that the nurses sent

You can't still convent, don't have seven cents

Grave the raven, my birds are heaven sent

Where the brethren went? where the Reverend went?

I told you these words are heaven sent



[Chorus]



[Monk]

It's time to show you how them rugged MC's rock

If that's steel you see, it's that steel I pop

If that Benz I walk, it's that Benz I cop

Who rock them white tees first, get a West Cost props

Can't nobody it better than, the West Coast veteran

Three six letterman, Monk's the name

Black Knights the gang, I'll ignite the flames

Strike my hood up on the wall, and cross out your name

With a K on the end of it, that won't be the end of it

Til them guns is drawn, and you standing on the end of it

Poof be gone, I'mma write that wrong

I'm the shit all by myself, nobody writes my song

Peep my technique, strictly gangsta classics

Gun talk, nigga, muthafuck theatrics

My flow is matchless, ain't no way you can surpass this

Level I'm on, better go home, and try to practice



[Christbearer]

Why yes, am I next to impress

D-T-S, bless the best, no cess

Stress, from guess to gold press

The quest to protest, we head the Pro Keds

But this is the new improved shit

'08 from the AMG, '92, bitch



[Chorus]