WU-TANG CLAN


Hellz Wind Staff Lyrics

["The Wu-Tang Clan will rise again
There are many of us, working for the good of the Wu] Tang"

"Die!" *sounds of fighting are heard*

Verse One: Street Life

So get your egg crashed, by my Hellz Wind Staff
While the feature broadcast is splashed to tell the news
like Kaity Chung, how the bullet collapsed his lung
His father watched the horror as he swallowed his tongue
Another youth dead, before the age of twenty-one
Left his son to grow, in the ghettoes of the slums
Where the shots echo, for twisted metal for cash flow
React slow nigga and get, P.L.O.
By the lone gunner, who took revenge for his brother
who got slain last summer by a cocaine runner
A new year is dawning, new crews is forming
Rival gangs is warring blood steadily pouring
The streets are deep Son every day is like a rerun
So I reach out and try to teach one
But eighty-five percent uncivilized content
No tolerance so a lifetime is spent
behind a cage bent smoked out on a park bench
Killer instinct slave rap niggaz get lynched

*sounds of fighting*

Verse Two: Ghostface Killah

So yo break that nigga arm fast as a fuck
Tell Ra, Goldie left my beige jacket in his truck
To all you slow footed penguins, duckin from these
hot rocks that's flamin, charcoal broiled rap Damian's
Spraying cards ex-pionage, dodgeball sweat hard
Strip bars, no bras, wet leotards
in the making, next album Blood On Chef's Apron
Keep a Gambino PlayStation in your playpen
Discovery Channel, catch the book of Daniel
Coke blunts hot as a FUCK swatted bamboo
high school dropouts, baseheads get knocked the fuck out
on the regular for robbin a good nigga house
Rough cut raw doseage, the unexplainable
Hot rock lava, gringo throw the flows iglasa

*sounds of fighting*

Verse Three: Inspectah Deck

Ha ha ha ha, yo
What you know about this, specialist armed dangerous
Hit you close range with this madness
Unique design shine like a deep dish
The beat kick technique spit on your weak shit
Yes, the rhythm, the Rebel
Alone in my level heated up past the boiling point of metal
Living legend, veteran known to set trend
Lethal weapon, step through your section
with the Force like Luke Skywalker
Rhyme author, orchestrate mind torture
Live performer, bid the mic sayanora
Borderline to insane, I rain firewater
Tape recorder, can't be saved by a court order
I got my sword cross your throat you joke

Verse Four: Method Man


We on the run with the golden guns, get you numb
when it reach out and teach someone, blaze they buns
Now I'm guilty by association
Times of blackness eclipsin the sun, target practice
commence when I throw these darts at these rappers
Ricochet, hit the charts, bloody your matress
Hold me down, Wu bloodkin, I'm goin in
Shootin bullets at the top ten, rhyme concoction
blend like chameleon
All these niggaz want cheese, is we mice or men, word up
We can go platinum but then, still can't get no satisfaction
Once again, back on the block crumb snatchin
Blowin backs in
Cold-Blooded nine assassins, time for action, Johnny Unidas
Handle that like arthritis
Still, hold a golden touch like King Midas

*swords clash*

Verse Five: RZA

Drowning problems in Heineken's imported from Holland
Gettin boosted off a killer bee pollen, stone columns
get cracked by drum tracks smack loud as gun claps
Pin a crab to death with a thousand thumbtacks
The Wu centerfold, it be's the Wind Ninja scroll
Soul edged blade controls your inner pole
The thick loop, fruit from the forbidden tree root
I stay secluded in the Chamber trainin new recruits
with Fatal Guillotine, the black hooded team what it means
when bullets scream from the hot glock like rock from a sling
("Sometimes...") Pushed through like George Bush Operation PUSH
Shots get popped on the block causing blood to gush
From digital to analog, the Wu-Wear camoflogue
My entourage squad we stompin through Zanzibar
like herds of cattle, RZA plays the wall like a shadow
Connect from Brook To Shao like the Verrazano Narrows

Verse Six: Raekwon the Chef

Stashin cream though, Iceatollah ice style gleamo
Lex graffiti name Remo, hold em we rollin
askin me though, raps is hotter than, hot tamales in Toledo
Pussy that shit she passin off to me though
We wax Ajax niggaz with a axe, Maxamill
You could crash a mil, got you back still
scold em and fold em like they thousand dollar bills
sit back iron y'all niggaz out
Fakes that delegate we spittin fire out
Verb burgular, designer Wally shoe store reserver
Jet status, Guyanese bird up on my matress
Watch me mack this, Ralph Lauren goose inside a fashion
Yo, these hands is flooded and they mad quick
Strong approach like magnets, custom wood crane name
Stylin rich, RZA made the waves in one cham'
Feelin mics like, wheelin a bike, slide like
up on his Klondike, get your dart right
We movin on it like, wind breaker niggaz get they face broke
Jury get snatched, magazine right on the low, fuck y'all cats

("Sometimes...")
*sounds of fighting*

"May you rot in hell!"
"Ahahahahah, ahahahahaha, ahahahahaha!"

Songwriter(s): Robert F. Diggs
Copyright: Ramecca Publishing Inc., Universal Music - Careers
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