[Intro]
Oh, mad one, we see your trap
You can never escape your fate
Submit with honor to a duel with my son
I agree
I see you're using an old style
I wondered where you'd learned it from
You know very well, it's yours too
Heh, I had forgotten, will you show me?
And what have you come for?
You come here, since you're so interested - fight me

[Verse 1: GZA]
Yo, picture bloodbaths in elevator shafts
Like these murderous rhymes tight from genuine craft
Check the print, it's where veterans spark the letterings
Slow-moving MCs is waiting for the editing
The liquid soluble that made up the chemistry
A gaseous element that burned down your ministry
Herbal vapors and biblical papers
Smoking Exodus, every square yard is plush
Fuck the screw-faced photo sessions, facial expression leaves impression
Try to keep a shark n***a guessing
Give crazy shouts, son, here's the outcome
Cut across the semi-gloss rhymes you floss
Shit is outdated, just like neckloads of Sterlings
Suede-fronts, bell-bottoms and tri-colored Shearlings
I ain't particular, I bang like vehicular homicides
On July 4th from Bed-Stuy
Where money don't grow on trees and there's thieving MCs
Who cutthroat to rake leaves
They can't breathe, blood splash, rushing fast like running rivers
I be that whiskey in your liver
[Hook: Ol' Dirty Bastard]
Duel of the Iron Mic!
It's the 52 fatal strikes!

[Verse 2: Masta Killa]
This is not an 85 affair made clear
When the gods get on to perform, storms blew up
Wu's up causing the crowd to self-destruct
Killa Beez are stinging something while I reveal
Science that's heavily guarded by the culprit
Bombing your barracks with aerodynamic swordplay
Poison darts by the doorway
Minds that's laced with explosive doses
Damaging lyrical launcher
Lunge at the youthful offender then injure any contender
Testing the murderous Masta could lead to disaster
Dynamite thoughts explode through your barrier, rips the retina
Who can withstand the astonishing punishing stings to the sternum?
Shocked in the hip-hop livestock
Seeking for a serum to cure 'em

[Verse 3: Inspectah Deck]
Adults kill for drugs plus the young bucks bust
Ducking handcuffs, throats get cut when dough rush
Out of town foes look shook but still pose
We move like real pros through the streets we stroll
Bullet holes lace the windows in one-six-oh
Soul Controller avenues that's the dream that's sold
Building lobbies are graveyards for small-timers
Bitches caught in airports, ki's in their vaginas
No peace, yo the police mad corrupt
You get bagged up, depending if you're passing the cut
Plus shorty's not a shorty no more, he's living heartless
Regardless of the charges, claims to be the hardest individual
Critical thoughts, criminal-minded
Blinded by illusion, finding it confusing
[Hook: Ol' Dirty Bastard]
Duel of the Iron Mic!
It's the fifty-two fatal strikes!
Duel of the Iron Mic!
It's the fifty-two fatal strikes!

[Outro]
Huh, Master, he must be dreaming, heh
Well, if he is dreaming then he must be asleep
And if he's asleep, then I will wake him up!

At the height of their fame and glory, they turned on one another
Each struggling in vain for ultimate supremacy
In the passion and depth of their struggle
The very art that had raised them to such Olympian heights was lost
Their techniques vanished