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211 Duck Seazon
Wu-Tang Clan
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We scrape y'all motherfuckers, it's my word
When you see us, when you see us flashin' and shinin' and buildin'
And addin' on, y'all niggas just watch, hear me?
Only ones who we got respect for is the niggas that we say peace to
Hear me? Pay attention, put your shoes on, yo
My team be bellyachin', hungry niggas on the swarm again
Piranha 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, told taste the soul food
Remember baggy jeans, Timberlands in November
Shorty called me Santa in December
But guess what? My Wallys got messed up
Autograph pressed up, what? Blessed enough to blow your rest up
We scrape that, Land O' Lake that, mazola rap will get you sent back
Represent the gentlemens who bent that
Flash medallions like Italians, La Costra Nostra
We movin' through your hood like we supposed to, flexin'
Lexi Diamonds hold the settlement, Tekitha, bust your gun, boo
Like that badass bitch in Dead Presidents
Ad on the billboard store, check it now
You get the gold dick award, it's like jail, and it's the sixth floor
Test me, floatin' in the S.E., now, let's see
Half of y'all niggas built your vine from my stress tree
Faggots, homos, yo, my flavor liver than adobo
Stay militant, kid, twist ya like Bolo
You fuckin' idiot, playin' with my Clan, but you be fearin' it
Fake one, I'm guaranteed to make you take one
Please, y'all niggas money's gettin' low
But could you come back, though, set up shop and get the fat glow?
Tired of y'all, mostly inspired by y'all
So what the deal now? Link up with us or put your shield down, faggot
Fuck around, punk (7-15)
We battle for cream, nigga (yo)
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 .44 reflectin' off your shiny forehead
It's Wu-Tang, nigga, ain't nothing changed, nigga
Still, shame on a nigga who tried to run game
Your version of perversion, fuckin' bitches on Persian rugs
Washin' niggas like detergent, it's the surgeon
Slugs propels from Bobby Steele's 12 gauge
Front page Daily Chronicle reads
"Hell up in Gotham, take heed and protect your seeds"
You fall like autumn leaves
You lack tranquility in your rap utilities to fuck with the abilities
Race like a sperm cell to the ovary
Microphone post tone like a rotary phone
Ancient poems of poetry
Old scrolls, 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 ice is curtains, advice
Come quietly, Wu-Tang Clan rules society
Because of variety, so maintain your high anxiety
And lead them to defy me, diary, ya irie?
I need 18 points on my next joint
This high anointed king to make a deal, I be the one to appoint
Steve Rifkind must've been sniffin'
To catch somethin' so dope it left Monica Lynch 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 the harbor
Legal 'caine grind like Nicaragua
I gave birth to MCs, thieves, and bank robbers
We drove expensive whips and took worldwide trips
And my dick's been sucked by the finest lips
Fancy delicatessens and the world's best refreshment
But none of the above compare to the 120 Lessons
Or my queen and my seed and the homes that I rest in
Enter my zone, get blown in 99 sections
This rhyme has no limitation, this time there's no hesitation
Collectin' minds at the door
You want it, niggas? It's yours, the flavor's raw
What the fuck you think I'm flowin' for? It's rhyme and reason
Bite the bullet, niggas is fowl and it's duck season
We at odds 'til we even, motherfucker
Bad asses, high time, lower classes
Taste mine, straight shots in dirty glasses
Bring it to 'em, room service
Under pressure and mad nervy
Wavin' guns at the clergy
Ticallion, we ain't worried
Keep them sick niggas 7-30
Picture this, watch the birdie
These bastards is old and dirty
With sharp hymns that be stabbing you
Pins and needles, needles and pins
'Nuff said, dick in your mouth like Tempest Bled'
As I racetrack with thoroughbreds, duckin' the Feds
Yo, my ice look fly upon the keyboard, son
Niggas ran up on me, lord, praisin' what we do by the laws
That's right, exile the fake, hit them niggas like weight
Feed 'em food, let the fake evaporate
Reconstruction, that's the whole science on my production
Y'all niggas guess who stuck, son, left his nuts hung
Switch, finger itch, starin' at you like a bitch
Maybe y'all niggas snitch
You's a loner, Adidas shell top while I sip a Corona
Read the Robb Report, then bone her
Buy you some jewels, here's some food
Not necessarily mean to be rude, boo, check out the analoo
We into mushrooms, chase the Heineken, the custom
Baggy jeans, thick ropes, god, slidin' through customs
Chill, y'all niggas know what time it is
James Bond Bimmers behind me on Bacardi Limon
Check out the pitch like Nolan Ryan
He caught a slug for lying
Yeah, you was lying, where the cash? Crying
Militia, rollin' in position
Casa Blanca, Cuban link Christian
Lex retali' back whistling
Fake fucks
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
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