(feat. Black Mas, Raekwon) 



[Intro: Raekwon (Black Mas)] 

Fightin' like a lost soul (word, they can't fight) 

Herb raps, word up son (they can't fight this) 

Knowhatimsayin? Gotta run through this at all times 

You hear me, (word up) right, yeah (so we understandin' this shit) 

Aight, word, knawhatimean? (bring that shit back) 



[Chorus: Raekwon] 

Whatever dunn, show 'em, represent how you do yours 

Connect four, major niggas, float, do tours 

It's like this, check out the marvelous cats who bust, only us 

Red Rums, slide through, dunn, what, who bumped it, what? 



[Wicked] 

Aiyo, it's the L.O.'s and the Chef, cookin' up some marvelous 

Servin' niggas whoever cuz they impatiently starve for this 

Apocalypse upon your clicks for tryin' to change over 

I write my rhymes top of line, like fuckin' Range Rovers 

I aim cobras wit wind blowers, international flame throwers 

Wipe out your whole territory, and leave your smell in strange odors 

I bring folders, to the real hip hop 

So try to front up on my click, and kid, you will get dropped 

I build this poppest disaster, crash your land flash 

I "flex" like Funk, then I "flash" like Grandmaster 

Ask you who the nicest, on mic devices 

My lyrical crisis'll have you seein' "illusions" like Cypress 

You bite this, wanna write this, so I might just 

Teach you like them "teachers", that's "poor" and "righteous" 

Sit you down and recite this, I like this 

My crew shinin' wit tight sips, ya'll fools want 

From a taste of Red Rum, wit a slight twist of Lou Diamond 

I rule rhymin', ain't no if, ands, about that 

Ask niggas around the way, you can beat me 

They be like, "nah, I doubt that" 

He's dangerous, don't try to follow, I'm sure to loose you 

I hit you wit tons and pounds of heavy shit like Yokozuna 

Get you growin' tumor, for tryin' think about my fly shit 

And fuckin' wit this and you ain't gotta be livin' the fast life to die quick 



[Chorus] 



[Black Mas] 

Yo, clear the way and bring your crews, about to ship on to Michigan 

Got you twitchin' kid, official gear, got you bitchin' kid 

Pay attention, kid, we get low down wit four down lyrical styles 

Go down, wit more grounds, you tow down, we blow shit 

Oh shit, flip, we control shit, we roll thick 

Play me close, kid, get your dome split 

Wit chrome grips, collected thought, style of all sorts 

Playin' niggas like sports, on courts, holdin' down fort 

Nigga soft, takin' virginity from niggas daughters 

You be, B., I ain't havin' it, like baseheads wit nine dollars and four quarters 

I'm bringin' drama to your grounds, keep it rugged raw 

Before you battle me, go to Apollo and rub that fuckin' log 

I eight-six and knock your ass out the boxing rings 

Nigga, fuckin' up backs like beds wit no backspring 



[Chorus] 



[Raekwon] 

What's the cake? He tried to front of dope mink 

This no name nigga wit game, straight outta Spain 

Shell blowers, we cardiac arrest elbowers 

Rock rovers, like hangin' above God shoulder 

Yea, we gettin' ours, you flower head cats is cowards 

We buckin' birds like Adina Howard 

Rich niggas allow it, you know it done right, black 

Bulletproof ski hats, Siamese, beings wit the dezack 

The dice rollers, the Motorola glock holders 

Yo, hold this, six hundred Benz niggas for soldiers 

We top notch, Rocky watch, blood son, guzzle spots 

Glass spot, run in your bitch, smack your pops 

Mack style to this, murder one style, shit's miraculous 

Half of this, I'm hittin' at home wit Indianopolis 



[Chorus x2]