Hellz Wind Staff (feat. Street Life, Ghostface Killah, Inspectah Deck, Method Man, RZA & Raekwon) - Wu-Tang Clan

All you hoes, be cryin' for these bitches All you niggaz, be cryin' for these hoes Both hands clusty, pullin' out gats Double barreled, blew off the burner kinda dusty We back don't test, bring it to 'em proper, potnah Comin' from the thirty-six chamber Math, let the plate spin Many brothers y'all be sparkin' Stray shots, all on the block that stays hot If ya fuck with Wu, we gots ta fuck witchu Who the fuck knocked our buildings down? Who the man behind the World Trade massacres Step up now Where the four planes at huh is you insane bitch? Fly that shit over my hood and get blown to bits No disrespect, that's where I rest my head I understand you gotta rest yours true Nigga my people's dead America, together we stand, divided we fall Mr. Bush sit down, I'm in charge of the war Yes yes y'all, the INS bless y'all Stop hearts like cholesterol, let's brawl Never fall, tear it down like a wreckin' ball Role call where my niggaz that's one for all And all for one, we draw the guns on impulse Cash in the envelope, spend it on kinfolk Then smoke a ounce as we count mills Providin' you pure ecstasy without pills Y'all know the rules, we don't fuck with fools man How the fuck did we get so cool man? Never ever disrespect my crew If ya fuck with Wu we gots ta fuck witchu Y'all dogs better guard ya grills, it's all real We live from it, it's the God I-Reelz Yo' wonderful, spark the blillz Let me build with the people for the mills I'm rollin' with the Rebel I-Ill from Killa Hill Peace to Brownsville Brothers that'll kill for the will of the righteous Twenty-five to lifers, true and livin' snipers You wait like "Sixth Sense" 'til hard to kill How you livin' Street Life? I'm surrounded by criminals Serial killers tote guns without the serial High-tech, street intellect, all digital Project original, sheisty individual New York's bravest, always supply you with the latest We hall of famers, and still hit you with the greatest Took a year hiatus, now you wanna hate us Y'all know the rules, we don't fuck with fools man How the fuck did we get so cool man? Never ever disrespect my crew If ya fuck with Wu we gots ta fuck witchu Sendin' letters to China, my cousin in Wendy's on Viacom At home, it's worth money, I adorns Order drinks, all real niggaz order your minks yo We got the fit teds on, lookin' all fink Daddy everybody get money from now on Payday flash Visas livin' like, Easter e'ryday Don't fuck Benz, rather a 430 That shit that float through water, eyeball come up Drop birdies yo We can eat right, or we can clap these toys I'm with Street Life, ain't never been a Backstreet Boy Who y'all kiddin' tryin' to act like my shoe fittin' Confused with ya head up yo' ass like who's shittin' It's Hot Nixon, same team same position Battin' average three-five-seven and still hittin' Y'all still bitchin', still lame and still chicken I'm still here, one leg missin' and still kickin' 'Cause I'm hard, hard like a criminal Love like a tennis shoe, throw slug to finish you It's the Method Man, for short Mr. Meth I can tell this motherfucker ain't Wu, look at his neck Comin' from the thirty-six chamber Bring it to 'em proper, potnah It's Wu-Tang, rushin' yo' gang, crushin' the game Pretty thugs, clutchin' they chain, hand cuppin' they thang Who gets strange, gassed up playin' with flames Let a nigga take off his shades, see what I'm sayin' is Y'all know the rules, we don't fuck with fools man How the fuck did we get so cool man? Never ever disrespect my crew If ya fuck with Wu we gots ta fuck witchu Nigga

RZA came and got me, this what I came to do, come on Ring the bell so it's time to eat Brick Dog stash weed inta AMI-seats, bomb inside the palm Doc rock a wife beater with me beatin' my wife ass ironed on The front, my pump built like the Klumps To carry it I take the spare out the trunk I stay hungry, I ain't worked for days That's why you see the pump when the curtains raise Blast, don't panic Do I gotta explain how I tame and lock The rap game single-handed? Hell nah I won't tell you son, if I find a wack ID, I sell you one Doc and Hot Nick, Inspectah My lecture's like Hannibal Lector's Where's the ketchup? Don't speak on it, shut ya trap I see ya whole crew yellow like mustard packs Ah woo, Doc in my own zone You say you got the rap games sewn But it's sewn wrong I ride through ya hood in a Mr. Softee truck Then pull a mac out a box of snow cones Yeah, ya little fucks Gimme ya fuckin' money Uhuh, check it I'm hotter than a hundred degrees with my coat on Playing with a dynamite stick, where did I go wrong? Somebody pull the fire along when Jonny stomp If ya lukewarm leavin' ya clothes and boots torn Pro's and con's, megabomb's and so-on's By arid actions try MC's to get their roll on First issue, got issues What is hip-hop to hot nickels? It's like Funk Doc to snot tissues, word Look at my hand and get the third Finger out ya ear hole like "Fuck what you heard" Now, that's what I call hardcore, let's act fool Mr. Fix-It like Handyman I pack tool I been shitty, I'm from the veils of the city And just because my outfit match don't make me pretty Baggy Dun Gurees, dick need room to breathe In a room full of crackers I might cut the cheese Ain't no rules to the game If it is we ain't playin' In your business like EPMD, "So whatcha sayin'?" You co-designin' that bullshit yo man tryin' Chaka chaka cha-ta tatat Slugs flyin' Yo, ya Check, the code echoes from magazines to the big screen Fo' wheel machines like ya wits scream, kids fiend From the urban to sub-urban Roll upon me thirstin' like "Hey, hey, Mister Dream-Merchant" We roll longer than dice in a casino Cee-lo in the 4, 5 or 6 with double 0 Behind the tinted windows I lie low On some hydro tryin' to slide from the 5-0 But now, get wild similar to Ol' Dirty On third time felon just hit with over 30 No worries, style have 'em so thirsty First degree heats are quittin' on me Cold turkey, no mercy I bring the pain of a hundred migraines But a thousand shoutin' my name that's why I came But first bring the cash burst, then the outburst My surround sound pound ya ear like Jevon Kearse I flex muscle outside I find a next hustle Trouble with ya here and face the tec-muscle Even the best buckle win, I take it to the extreme It gets ugly, but it's what a nigga do to get cream This life