[Produced by Metal Fingers]

[Intro 1: RZA]
Bob Digi, U G-O-D, Raekwon the Chef
The Inspectah Deck!
M.E.T.H.O.D. Man (The B-O-B-B! Straight up)
Masta Killa! The GZA/The Genius!
It's the Ol' D-d-d- D-d-d- D-d-Dirty Bastard!

[Intro 2: Ghostface, Ol' Dirtry Bastard, (Cappadonna), (RZA)]
1, 2, 1, 2, (Killa Beez) – turn it up, the headphones!
Turn it up.. yo, you hear me?
(Whattup, Toney?)
Wassup, Don-Don?
All the way up...!
You know how we do...
(Let's get this paper together...)
You motherfuckin' right, pa, uh huh
(What's up, y'all?)
We wanna do it, n***a
You know how I like it...
Sound about to go in on some real Wu shit, uh-huh (W.T.C.)
That's right – ya know what I mean?
(GHOST–FACE KILLAH!)
Lemme give y'all the bullshit hook for y'all n***as
Check it out...
[Hook: Ghostface Killah]
The burners in the stash, we 'bout the cash
We got females, we got it like that
The golden childs that bone the crowd
See n***as in the place that bit my style
Well, I'm a singer, dancer, we bulletproof brothers
Wu-Tang got the answer!
'Cause if I had a chance to–
Do it again, I will still keep the heat in my pants-uh

[Verse 1: Ghostface Killah]
Y'all, be nice to the crackheads!
Everybody, listen up!
I shot one of my bitches, the ho ain't trick enough
Word life to big screen Don
Tapping dustbones out with star-itis, like I fucked Celine Dion
Stuck everything, that's the God's honest, beyond
We airin' n***as out, that's the type shit that we on
Official Wu-Tang headbanger
Flood your space with big waves like it did in Sri Lanka

[Verse 2: Raekwon]
I drink heavy gallons of Cru, play the big part
N***as got squid on the grill, selling kids Clarks
Finesse notes, yo, the Guess on with the vest pose
Yellow suede 1, matching hat with the grey gun
N***as be rhymin' for nothing
Then my team pull up, we all war down – y'all broke n***as stay frontin'
Lines come digital, stupid
Plus ain't got no jewelry on, bet I'm still live and I'm Coupe-in'
Two of my silverbacks run through a pack of ya wolves
Front or react, we're sippin' Cognac brew, relax, dude
You know I'm with these cracks, dude
[Verse 3: Ol' Dirty Bastard, (RZA)]
(One-two, one-two!) Yo... Dirt McGirt!
Solid tone Smith, with six shots
Lick shots –
Leave your head like a Shaolin monk, with 6 dots
BROOKLYNNN ZOO! (Zoo, zoo, zoo...)
BROKLNYNNNN ZOO! (Zoo, zoo, zoo...)

[Verse 4: Cappadonna]
It's the return of Bin Laden, grab your armor
Smash pretty boy n***as, crush they karma
Eat bones with alligators, roll deep with my entourage
My whole crew's fresh out the bars
Diggler, AKA The Cab Driver
Drop 'em off in the middle of fire
Dirty Island, drag bodies to the Murderland
Knock n***as out, hurtin' my hand

[Verse 5: Method Man]
I remember in the elevator, we was playin' corners (Yeah)
Now we play the corners and the cops is stayin' on us (Uh)
Staten's where the raw is
Where the court system's running out of warrants
Where TNT be jumping out the Taurus (Errrrnnn!)
For real, I can't call it
You see, I Love Lucy 'cause she Lawless (Yeah)
Exactly like that 1-0-3-0-4 is
Snitch n***as, swallow your tongue
Already know the island I'm from
And y'all don't want no problems with them
[Verse 6: GZA]
We got a history full of lightning victories
Conceptual breakthrough, it ain't no mystery
Long vision – from giants in every way
Rap czars, magnificent flows for every day
From the East to the 'ville, from the West to the hills
Incredible rhymes, encouraging skills
From rat packs, the smallest crews were enormous
We hit 'em fast with an effortless performance
MCs start fleeing in flocks
Especially those that's more sensitive to heat and shock

[Verse 7: Inspectah Deck]
We grindin' down to the bone, my name grounded in stone
I miss the violence, we loungin' with chrome
Mr. Violence, we lounge in his home
Hit the housing on roam, shining like a hundred thousand in stones
Move mountains with poems, got a jones for dinero
1-6-zero my zone, we throwin' elbows
The hoes cling, sho' thing, we known kings
Only dime types, with minds right – we chose queen

[Verse 8: Masta Killa]
Yeah, you wild like rock stars who smash guitars
Yo, son, split his face with the toast – see, there he goes
It's no joke, iron coat rifle with the scope
One toke, brains float, shot to the throat
Before the smoke hit, witness the killing, chilling crime scene
Body on the block, eyes open from the shock
Of being popped in the neck
Yet he still held a lit cigarette
Between his fingers –
Danger when you steppin' in the chamber with the Masta
Disaster – gotta blast ya, 'cause I have to

[Verse 9: U-God]
The Rat Pack is back, from the island of Stat'
Leave you curb dust, 'cause you worship the gat
The first one to snap, drunk off the Smirnoff
Blow the bouncer's ear off, let him floss, he the boss
Handcuffed, to the turntables, like Wizzard Theodore
See this pure? Let it rain, pearly ounces
Bang him with the thing that hang from the trousers
You don't want no drama, I'm flaming fast
That n***a jumped up and did the Damon Dash