Winter Warz-Ghostface Killah

* originally appeared on the Don't Be a Menace soundtrack Intro: Method Man It's on... (where your sparkle at kid) Ryzarector Break: Raekwon the Chef Yes the sh*t is raw, comin at your door Start to scream out loud, Wu-Tang's back for more Yes the hour's four, I told you before Prepare for mic fights (and plus the cold war) Verse One: U-God This rhyme you digest through the RZA console Ask why I slam, non-diagram pole Raekwon dropped the bomb, Hunchback, Norte Dame Golden Arms is bronze, buddah palm hit Qu'ran It blows extreme, mean stream be the theme Supreme team, America's CREAM team, redeemed Vidal Sassoon, chrome tones hear the moans of Al Capone Gun POW to the dome And split the bone, wig blown off the ledge By the alledged, full-fledged, sledge RZA edge One dose of my feroc(ious) hand held trigga cuts Acapella spittin shell paralyzed when you get touched And critical, mic cords, hangin like umbilical Cords, d**e swords, five star general Raw be the quote rap style sore throat Through the fully operational, hand held tote Break: (first two lines) Verse Two: Ghostface Killer More than thousand times one, snatch up, my styles get done I hold a title, enhanced how my belt was won, check it Slick majestic, broke mics are left infected Germs start to spread through your crew, drew like an epic You asked for it, shot up the jams like syringes My technique alone blows doors straight off the hinges Masked Avenger, I appear to blow your ear like wind With a freestyle, sharper than the Indian spear So sit back and let the king explore Describe me, the kid's nice and he holds swords And his name, black attack's the nerve like migraines With more games than beggars on trains, livid sharp pains Poisonous Rebel like Deck, you can't destroy this You get ambushed, skate, try to avoid this Side effects of, hot raps and hot tracks A duffle bag full of guns son, dipped in black My culture, slides and attacks like a vulture Ghostface and Madison Square is on your poster Break Verse Three: Masta Killa Be on the lookout for this mass murderous suspect That throws more body bags than apartments in projects And as far as the coroners know The autopsy shows, it was a Shaolin blow Put on by my family brought to the academy Of the Wu and learned how to F**k up your anatomy, steadily, calm and deadly Spatter-head lyrics I lick through your transmit MC's submit to the will as I kill your Juvenile freestyle, civilize the mentail Devils worship this like an icon They're huggin mics with the grips of a python Break Verse Four: Cappadonna (Cappachino) You heard of the rasp before but kept waiting For the sun of song, i keep dancehalls strong Beats never worthy of my cause, I prolong Extravangza, time sits still No propoganda, be wary of the skill As I bring forth the music, make love to your eardrum Dedicated to rap niggaz, beware of the fearsome Lebanon Don, Malcolm X beat threat CD massacre, murder to casette I blow the shop up, you ain't seen nothin yet One man ran, tryin to get away from it Put your bifocal on, watch me I'm comin Into your chamber like Freddy enter dreams Discombumberate your technique and your scheme Four course applause, like a black dat to dat You're stuck on stupid like I'm stuck on the map Nowhere to go except next show bro Entertainin motherf**kers can't stop O In battlin, you don't want me to start tattlin All upon the stage because y'all snakes keep rattlin B**ch, you ain't got nothin on the rich Every other day my whole dress code switch So just in case you want to clock me like Sherry All y'all crab b**ches ain't got to worry Can't get a ni**a like Don dime a dozen Even if I'm smoked out I can't be scoped out I'm too ill, I represent Park Hill See my face on the twenty dollar bill Cash it in, and get ten dollars back The fat LP with Cappachino on the wax Pass it in your think, put valve up to twelve Put all the other LP's back on the shelf And smoke a blunt, and dial 9-1-7 1-6-0-4-9-3-11 And you can long dick hip-hop affection I damage any MC who step in my direction I'm Staten Island's best son f**k what you heard Niggaz still talkin that sh*t is absurd My repotoire is U.S.S.R. P.L.O. style got blown out the car And run over, by the Method Man jeep Divine can't define my style is so deep Like p**sy, my low cut fade stay bushy Like a porcupine, I part backs like a spine Cut you like a blunt and reconstruct your design I know you want to diss me, but I can read your mind Cuz you weak in the knees like SWV Tryin to get a title like Wu Killa Bee Kid change your habit, you know I'm friends with the Abbot Me and RZA ridin name printed in the tablet Under vets, we paid our debts for mad years Hibernate the sound, and now we out like beers And blunt power, born physically power speakin The truth in the song be the pro-black teachin