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Winter Warz
Ghostface Killah Feat. Raekwon, U-God, Masta Killa & Cappadonna
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[Intro: Method Man, (GZA) and U-God
It's on
(Where your sparkle at, kid?)
RZArector!
Yo
Yes, the shit is raw comin' at your door
Start to scream out loud, "Wu-Tang's back for more"
Yes, the hour's four, I told you before
Prepare for mic fights, and plus the cold war
This rhyme you digest through the RZA console
Ask why I slam non-diagram poems
Raekwon dropped the bomb, "Hunchback of Notre Dame"
Golden arms is bronze, Buddha palm hit Qu'ran
It blows extreme, mainstream be the theme
Supreme team, America's cream team, redeem
Vidal Sassoon, chrome tones hear the moans of Al Capone
Gunpowder to the dome'll split the bones
Wig blown off the ledge by the alleged
Full-fledged sledge, RZA edge
One dose of my ferocious hand-held trigger clutch
Acapella spittin' shells, paralyze, you get touched
In critical, mic cords hangin' like umbilical
Cords, dope swords, five-star general
"Raw" be the quote, rap style sore throat
Through the fully operational hand-held tote, mmm-hmm
Yes, the shit is raw comin' at your door
You start to scream out loud, "Wu-Tang's back for more"
A hundred thousand times one, snatch up my sounds, get done
I hold the title, and here's how my belt was won, check it
Slick majestic, broke mics are left infected
Germs start to spread through your crew, through lack of effort
You asked for it, shot up the jams like syringes
My technique alone blows doors straight off the hinges
Masked avenger, I appear to blow your ear like wind
With a freestyle sharper than the Indian spear
So sit back and let the king explore
Describe me? "The kid's nice and he holds swords in his name"
Black, attack the nerve like migraines
With more games than beggars on trains, livin' sharp pains
Poisonous rebel like Deck, you can't destroy this
You get ambushed, skate, try to avoid this
Side effects of hot raps and hot tracks
A duffel bag full of guns sun-dipped in black
My culture flies and attacks like a vulture
Ghostface in Madison Square is on your poster
Yes, the shit is raw comin' at your door
You start to scream out loud, "Wu-Tang's back for more"
Yes, the hour's four, I told you before
Prepare for mic fights, and plus the cold war
Be on the lookout for this mass-murderous suspect
That fills more body bags than apartments in projects
And as far as the coroners know
The autopsies show it was a Shaolin blow
Put on by my family, brought to the academy
Of the Wu and learned how to fuck up your anatomy
Steadily, calm and deadly
Splatterhead lyrics I lick through your transmit
MCs submit to the will as I kill your
Juvenile freestyle, civilize the mental
Devils worship this like an icon
Bear-huggin' mics with the grips of a python
Yes, the shit is raw comin' at your door
Start to scream out loud, "Wu-Tang's back for more"
You heard other raps before, but kept waitin' for the Son of Song
I keep dancehalls strong
Beats 'nother worthy of my cause, I prolong
Extravaganza, time sits still
No propaganda, be wary of the skill
As I bring forth the music, make love to your eardrum
Dedicated to rap, nigga, beware the fearsome
Lebanon Don, Malcolm X beat threat
CD massacre, murder to cassette
I blow the shop up, you ain't seen nuttin' yet
One man ran tryin' to get away from it
Put your bifocal on, watch me a-cometh
Into your chamber like Freddy enter dream
Discombumberate your technique and your scheme
Four cores applause like a black Jack did that
You stuck on stupid like I'm stuck on the map
Nowhere to go except next show, bro
Entertainin' motherfuckers can't stop O
In battlin', you don't want me to start tattlin'
All up on the stage 'cause y'all snakes keep rattlin'
Bitch, you ain't got nothin' on the rich
Every other day, my whole dress code switch
So just in case you wanna Clock Me Like Cherie
All y'all crab bitches ain't got to worry
Can't get a nigga like Don Dama doesn't
Even if I'm smoked out, I can't be scoped out
I'm too ill, I represent Park Hill
See my face on the twenty-dollar bill
Cash it in and get ten dollars back
The Fat LP with Cappachino on the wax
Pass it in your thing, put valve up to twelve
Put all the other LPs back on the shelf
And smoke a blunt, and dial 9-1-7
1-6-0-4-9-3-11
And you could get long dick hip-hop affection
I damage any MC who step in my direction
I'm Staten Island best, son, fuck what you heard
Niggas still talkin', that shit is absurd
My repertoire is USSR
PLO style got thrown out the car
And ran over by the Method Man jeep
Divine can't define, my style is so deep
Like pussy, my low-cut fade stay bushy
Like a porcupine, I pop backs like a spine
Gut you like a blunt and reconstruct your design
I know you wanna diss me, but I can read your mind
'Cause you weak in the knees like SWV
Tryin' to get a title like Wu Killa Bee
Can't change your habit, you know I'm friends with the Abbott
Me and RZA-Ra name-printed in the tablet
Under vets, we paid our debts for mad years
Hibernatin' sound and now we out like beers
In born power, born physically, power speakin'
The truth in the song be the pro-black teachin'
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