- Lyrics
- Album list
- Singer Intro
Wu-Tang Clan( Wu Tang Clan )
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Clan In da Front
Up from the 36 Chambers... Heheh. it's the Ghost.Face.Killah Hehheheh Wu-Tang Wu-Tang Killa Beez, we on a swarm Wu-Tang Killa Beez, we on a swarm Wu-Tang Killa Beez, we on a swarm Wu-Tang Killa Beez, we on a swarm The RZA, the GZA, Ol' Dirty Bastard, Inspectah Deck, U-God Ghostface Killah, the Method Man, Raekwon the Chef, the Masta Killa Raw Desire, LeVon, Power Cipher 12 O'Clock, 60 Second Assassin, the 4th Disciple The Brown Hornet K.D. the Down Low Recka, Shyheim AKA The Rugged Child Due-Due Lilz, Mista Hezekiah -- better known as the Yin and the Yang The True Master, Isham, DJ Skane, The True Robocop comin thru Scientific Shabazz, my motherfuckin man Wise the Civilized The Shaolin Soldiers Daddy-O and Poppa Ron comin down from the motherfuckin South end of things Killa beez all over your fuckin planet Thirty-six chambers of death Three-hundred and sixty degrees of perfected styles Choppin off your motherfuckin dome... ...piece, and every fuckin borough Brooklyn, Manhattan, and Queens, Staten Island The motherfuckin Bronx, Killa Beez...
The sword? C'mon, give him the sword
Clan in the front, let your feet stomp Niggas on the left, rag shit to death Hoods on the right, wild for the night Punks in the back, come on in the track to what
The Wu is coming through, the outcome is critical Fucking with my style is sort of like a miracle On 34th Street, in the Square of Herald I gamed Ella, the bitch caught a Fitz like Gerald- -ine Ferraro, who's full of sorrow cause the ho didn't win Find more lyrics at ※ Mojim.com But the sun will still come out tomorrow And shine shine shine like gold mine Here comes the drunk monk, with a quart of Ballantine Pass the bone, kid pass the bone Let's get on this mission like Indiana Jones, the GZA One who just represent the Wu-Tang clique With the game and soul of an old school flick Like the Mack and Dolemite, who both did bids Claudine went to Cooley High and had mad kids So stop, the life you save may be your motherfucking own I'll hang your ass with this microphone Make way for the merge of traffic Wu-Tang's coming through with full metal jackets God squad that's mad hard to serve Come fronting hard, then Bernhard Goetz what he deserves
No response while I bomb that ass You ain't shit, your wack ass town had you gassed Egos is something the Wu-Tang crush Souped up niggas on a stage get rushed I don't give a goddamn on the shows you did How many rhymes you got or who knows you kid Cause I don't know you therefore show me what you know I come sharp as a blade and I cut you slow You become so Pat as my style increases What's that in your pants ahh human feces Throw your shitty drawers in the hamper Next time come strapped with a fucking Pamper How you sound B? You're better off a quitter I'm on the mound, G, and it's a no-hitter And my DJ the catcher, he's my man In a way he's the one who devised the plan He throws the signs I up the beats with clout I throw the rhymes to the mic and I strike em out So it really doesn't matter on how you intrigue You can't fuck with those in the major leagues
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