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Winter Warz
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Ghostface Killah
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1
It's on
2
(Where your sparkle at kid)
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Ryzarector
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Yes, the shit is raw, comin' at your door
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Start to scream out loud, Wu-Tang's back for more
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Yes, the hour's four, I told you before
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Prepare for mic fights
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(And plus the cold war)
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This rhyme you digest through the RZA console
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Ask why I slam, non-diagram pole
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Raekwon dropped the bomb, Hunchback, Norte Dame
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Golden Arms is bronze, buddah palm hit Qu'ran
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It blows extreme, mean stream be the theme
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Supreme team, America's CREAM team, redeemed
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Vidal Sassoon, chrome tones hear the moans of Al Capone
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Gun POW to the dome
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And split the bone, wig blown off the ledge
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By the alledged, full-fledged, sledge RZA edge
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One dose of my feroc hand held trigga cuts
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Acapella spittin' shell paralyzed when you get touched
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And critical, mic cords, hangin' like umbilical
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Cords, dope swords, five star general
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Raw be the quote rap style sore throat
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Through the fully operational, hand held tote
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Yes, the shit is raw, comin' at your door
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You start to scream out loud, Wu-Tang's back for more
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More than thousand times one, snatch up, my styles get done
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I hold a title, enhanced how my belt was won, check it
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Slick majestic, broke mics are left infected
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Germs start to spread through your crew, drew like an epic
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You asked for it, shot up the jams like syringes
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My technique alone blows doors straight off the hinges
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Masked Avenger, I appear to blow your ear like wind
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With a freestyle, sharper than the Indian spear
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So sit back and let the king explore
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Describe me, the kid's nice and he holds swords
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And his name, black attack's the nerve like migraines
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With more games than beggars on trains, livid sharp pains
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Poisonous Rebel like Deck, you can't destroy this
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You get ambushed, skate, try to avoid this
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Side effects of, hot raps and hot tracks
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A duffle bag full of guns son, dipped in black
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My culture, slides and attacks like a vulture
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Ghostface and Madison Square is on your poster
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Yes, the shit is raw, comin' at your door
46
You start to scream out loud, Wu-Tang's back for more
47
Yes, the hour's four, I told you before
48
Prepare for mic fights
49
(And plus the cold war)
50
Be on the lookout for this mass murderous suspect
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That throws more body bags than apartments in projects
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And as far as the coroners know
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The autopsy shows, it was a Shaolin blow
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Put on by my family brought to the academy
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Of the Wu and learned how to
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Fuck up your anatomy, steadily, calm and deadly
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Spatter-head lyrics I lick through your transmit
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MC's submit to the will as I kill your
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Juvenile freestyle, civilize the mentail
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Devils worship this like an icon
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They're huggin mics with the grips of a python
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Yes, the shit is raw, comin' at your door
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Start to scream out loud, Wu-Tang's back for more
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You heard of the rasp before but kept waiting
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For the sun of song, I keep dancehalls strong
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Beats never worthy of my cause, I prolong, extravaganza, time sits still
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No propaganda, be wary of the skill
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As I bring forth the music, make love to your eardrum
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Dedicated to rap niggaz, beware of the fearsome
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Lebanon Don, Malcolm X beat threat
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CD massacre, murder to casette
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I blow the shop up, you ain't seen nothin' yet
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One man ran, tryin to get away from it
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Put your bifocal on, watch me I'm comin'
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Into your chamber like Freddy enter dreams
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Discombumberate your technique and your scheme
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Four course applause, like a black dat to dat
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You're stuck on stupid like I'm stuck on the map
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Nowhere to go except next show bro
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Entertainin' motherfuckers can't stop O
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In battlin', you don't want me to start tattlin'
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All upon the stage because y'all snakes keep rattlin'
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Bitch, you ain't got nothin' on the rich
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Every other day my whole dress code switch
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So just in case you want to clock me like Sherry
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All y'all crab bitches ain't got to worry
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Can't get a nigga like Don dime a dozen
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Even if I'm smoked out I can't be scoped out
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I'm too ill, I represent Park Hill
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See my face on the twenty dollar bill
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Cash it in, and get ten dollars back
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The fat LP with Cappachino on the wax
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Pass it in your think, put valve up to twelve
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Put all the other LP's back on the shelf
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And smoke a blunt, and dial 9-1-7
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1-6-0-4-9-3-11
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And you can long dick hip-hop affection
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I damage any MC who step in my direction
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I'm Staten Island's best son fuck what you heard
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Niggaz still talkin that shit is absurd
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My repotoire is U.S.S.R.
102
P.L.O. style got blown out the car
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And ran over, by the Method Man jeep
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Divine can't define my style is so deep
105
like pussy, my low cut fade stay bushy
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Like a porcupine, I part backs like a spine
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Cut you like a blunt and reconstruct your design
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I know you want to diss me, but I can read your mind
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'Cuz you weak in the knees like SWV
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Tryin' to get a title like Wu Killa Bee
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Kid change your habit, you know I'm friends with the Abbot
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Me and RZA ridin name printed in the tablet
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Under vets, we paid our debts for mad years
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Hibernate the sound, and now we out like beers
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And blunt power, born physically power speakin'
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The truth in the song be the pro-black teachin'
Ghostface Killah- Winter Warz
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