Clap-Clap your hands everybody
Clap-Clap your hands everybody
Clap-Clap your hands everybody
Clap-Clap your hands everybody
Clap-Clap your hands everybody
Clap-Clap your hands everybody
Clap-Clap your hands everybody
Clap-Clap your hands everybody
Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang
Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang
Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang
Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang 
Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang
Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang
Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang
Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang 
Droves of styles older than sharkskin, now commit the barking
I gather rhymes and load up, cause its a hold-up
I meditate fast to assassinate a class, a dull sword
Check the graphics on this rap chalkboard
Peace to RZA Razor, yo, the niggas major
Who slice tracks fast like whities with Gillette razors
And wont stagnate, the ragged Dragon Lee
Regenerate, clearin the area, air out and ventilate
See, yo, Im natural, swift like a mackerel shark
Gat-packable, attackable in this art
Now watch a beat that makes and shakes and breaks ya
Ron G makes a million off his name, son
Ayo, peace to uptown, Shaolin now
Walk through, child, its wild
Huh, hit you like this son
Ron G, 94, takin em to war
Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang
Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang
Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang
Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang 
Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang
Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang
Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang
Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang 
Yo, I got piles and piles of my styles to utilize
And brutalize niggas who despise cause Im super fly
There aint a nigga in the game who can tame me
I flip A&Rs if they try to rearrange me
So how the fuck do you figure you can hang
With a nigga whose slang is equipped to pick a niggas brain?
I come hard to the fullest scar
From pulling cards, to leaving niggas scarred on the boulevard
Check my steez, my rep is kept pleased
Like these biceps that I flex when I crack your knees
A homicide in the making, you enter the chambers
And sentenced to death for move-faking
See mad thoughts fill the mind of a Killa
Sin is iller than your ordinary blood spiller
When its time to come into the track
Im like a maniac, slapping your stack when its all back
What? 1994, give it to ya raw
Mix king records, word up
Thats what Im talkin about
Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang
Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang 
Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang
Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang 
Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang
Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang 
Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang
Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang 
Easy soundboy, ere watch ya chat
Allow me to set the party off with the fly rap
Aye-aye, cap, suckers wanna battle give me mine
You rhymes wouldnt be fly if you said them on Delta Airline
Now thisll take a second, Kris has come to bug out
You waiting for some lovey-dovey, hug me, get the fuck out
I got the hardest texture, lecture or whatever
I got to survive G, I aint no saint
I do graffiti art, but like Martins home decorating center
I aint, just, paint, wait, wait
Wait, wait, let me speak, let me speak
While Im on this beat your career is looking bleak
I couldnt understand why you were coming soft and sweet
But that explains why your rhyming skills are weak
You need a quicker picker-upper, rip a sucker
Put my album on toast cause its butter
You dissing me will never happen slightly
Thats like Arsenio Hall on TV saying, Kill whitey
You might be slightly thrown off at my complexity
Lyrical ecstasy is achieved by standing next to me
You should of known your career was gonna end
Should of called Dionne Warwick and her psychic fucking friends
Now its ended, cant be mended, how splendid
For wack MCs, I come doctor recommended
Im hard, Jehovah said Im barred from the Pearly Gates
Fuck him, I didnt wanna go to heaven anyway
But my mama got me on my knees with my hands gripped
Talking bout some Praise the Lord shit
Hail Mary? Fuck her, I never knew her
Id probably screw her, and dump her body in the sewer
Our Father? My pops stuck up dope spots
Big, black and mean, with the fifth by the gabardines
What you expected from his next of kin, huh?
Im loco, bro, but aint no Mexican
I got nines in the bedroom, Glocks in the kitchen
A shotty by the shower if ya wanna shoot me while Im shittin
The lesson from the Smith & Wesson is depressin
Niggas keep stressin, the same motherfuckin question:
How many shots does it take to make my heart stop
And my body start to shake? Ron G, stop the breaks
Clap-Clap your hands everybody
Clap-Clap your hands everybody
Clap-Clap your hands everybody
Clap-Clap your hands everybody
Clap-Clap your hands everybody
Clap-Clap your hands everybody
Clap-Clap your hands everybody
Yeah, O.C. representing from Jamaica, Queens like this
You have now stepped into the realm of a man
With topics, open your optics, I rhyme for what I stand
Brace your boxes and stereo decks
Im here to do more than just collect checks
So get fixed to the wheel of force, see, Im the Jedi
When Im in flight it might be like the red eye
Swift, take a wiff of my vocabulary
Im wild like berries, I pop it like a cherry
Ron G composed it, everyone knows it
Life brings death from guns to roses
Shoot outs, put doubts of a nigga to a test
Shit is hex so I just might get a vest
But what good is a vest if youre aiming for the dome?
Kick it from a janny-port nickel plated chrome
Blast you in the face, massacring niggas
Figuring the referee foes thats bigger
Clap-Clap your hands everybody
Clap-Clap your hands everybody