GZA (Liquid Swordz Lyrics)
GoldIntro: Method Man Aiyyo Shorty, yo that's my word Oh, y'all smellin y'all piss now y'all think y'all gold Yo anybody get caught playin Over here, I'm returnin em that's my word that they be blasted Anything from two-twenty to one-fourty, that's mine Y'all niggaz step the fuck off Y'all niggaz ain't crazy for real Chorus: Genius Yo, the fiends ain't coming fast enough There is no cut that's pure enough I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload Product must be sold to YOU Verse One: Genius I'm deep down in the back streets - in the heart of Medina About to set off something more deep than a misdemeanor Under the subway, waiting for the train to make noise So I can blast a nigga and his boys - for what? He pushed up on the block and made the dope sales drop Like the crashin of Dow Jones stock I had to connect to cross seals, to catch more mil's Than ho-bitches got birth control pills I'm in the park, settin up a deal over blunt fire Bum niggaz sleepin on the bench, they had em wired Peeped my convo, the address of my condo And how I changed a nigga name to John Doe And while we set up camp, we got Vamp Put the stake through his heart, I ripped his fucking fangs apart Snake got smoked on the set like Brandon Lee Blown out the frame, like Pan Am flight 103 He got swung on, his lungs was torn, the kingpin just castled with his rook and lost a pawn A regular on the block, and played look-out For playing predator with a glock, he should have took out Chorus: No neighborhood is rough enough There is no clip that's full enough I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload Product must be sold to YOU The fiends ain't coming fast enough There is no cut that's pure enough I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload, Product must be sold to YOU Verse Two: Genius It's mandatory that I supply all my troops with mega firearms Big apes, and spread em out like crops on a farm to get CREAM, sometimes they repaint the scene Like the last episode on gates and other niggaz plant bombs til the smoke from the blast becomes thick and flows through all they knew, he's gun sick His glock clicks, like high-heeled shoes on parquay floors Mad sick, stand on hills and invade wars Filthy foul, shoveling dirt, he's out to hurt For instance, chop off hands, attack worth His idols would lock down airports and next extort some import, catchin ten percent of what the fiends snort Up in the ski resorts, up in hills They move keys and had skis making drops on snowmobiles The plan was to expand, catch seven figures, release triggers And live large and bigger than my nigga Who promised his moms a mansion with mad rooms She died, and he still put a hundred grand in her tomb Open wounds, he hid behind closed doors And still organized crime and drug wars Chorus: The fiends ain't coming fast enough There is no cut that's full enough I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload Product must be sold to YOU No neighborhood is rough enough There is no clips that's full enough I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload Product must be sold to YOU The peers that come is tight enough There is no niggaz that's fucking up I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload Product must be sold... to YOU
Shadowboxin'
Intro: Method Man/Johnny Blaze [special technique] Fuck that [special technique of shadowboxing] God damn (The GZA, god damn!) (The GZA, god damn!) Pledge allegiance to the hip-hop! (Method, god damn!) I pledge allegiance to the hip-hop (Maximilli-on, Maximilli-on) (Uh, yeah, ahh, uh) Johnny Blaze I pledge allegiance to the hip-hop (Johnny Blaze) Maximilli-on Maximilli-on Verse One: Method Man/Johnny Blaze I breaks it down to the bone gristle Ill speaking Scud missle heat seeking Johnny Blazing, nightmares like Wes Craven Niggaz gunnin, my third eye seen it coming Before it happen You know about them fucking Staten Kids they smashin Everything huh, in any shape form or fashion Now everybody talking bout they blastin, hmmm Is you bustin steel or is you flashin? Hmmm Talkin out your assHOLE You shoulda learnt about the flow and peasy afro Ticallion stallion, chinky eye and snot nosed From my naps to the bunion on my big toe I keeps it movin, know just what the fuck I'm doin Rap insomniac, fiend to catch a nigga snoozing Slip the cardiac arrest me, excorcist hip-hop posess me Crunch a nigga like a Nestle, you know my STEEZ burning to the third degree, sneaky ass alley cat top pedigree The head toucher, industry party bum rusher You don't like it dick up in ya fuck ya (allow me to demonstrate) That's right, you corny-ass (the skill of Shaolin) rap motherfuckers (The special technique) Better go back and check (of shadowboxing) your fuckin stacks (Shadowboxing) Cause your naps ain't nappy enough And your reefs ain't rugged enough Bitch Verse Two: The Genius/Maximillion I slayed MC's back in the rec room era My style broke motherfuckin backs like Ken Patera Most rap niggaz came loud but unheard Once I pulled ut, round em off to the nearest third Check these non visual niggaz, with tapes and a portrait Flood the seminar, tryin to orbit this corporate indsutry, but what them niggaz can't see must break through like the Wu, unexpectedly Protect Ya Neck, my sword still remain imperial Before I blast the mic, RZA scratch off the serial We reign all year round from June to June While niggaz bite immediately if not soon Set the lynchin, and form the execution date As this two thousand beyond slang suffocate Amplify sample through vacumn tubes compressions cause RZA, to charge niggaz twenty G's a session Verse Three: Method Man/Johnny Blaze When my mind start to clickin, and the strategy is mastered the plot thickens, this be that Wu shit I don't give a cotten-pickin FUCK about a brother tryin to size a nigga up, I hold my own Hard-hat protect your dome Look at mama baby boy actin like he grown No time for sleep, I gets deep as a baritone Killa bee, that be holdin down his honeycomb, loungin son Wu brother number one, protect your neck Flying guillotines here they come, bloody bastards Hard times and killer tactics, spittin words plus semi-automatic slurs, peep the graphic novel from the genie bottle, hit the clutch shift the gear now, full throttle, time to bungee To the next episode, I keeps it grungy Hand on my nutsac, and spittin lung-ghies At a wack nigga dat, don't understand the fact When it come to RZA tra-cks I don't know how to act Real rap from the Stat, killa hill projects How to be exact, break it down All and together now Things are getting good looking better now (Allow me to demonstrate the skill of Shaolin) (Sha-shadowboxing, the special technique of shadowboxing) (Shadowboxing)
String Play (Like This, Like That)
[Method Man] Uh, and it goes like this Uh uh uh uh, it goes like that Now let me tell you who I am Up early in the morning, dressed in black Who dat? *echoes* [Genius/GZA] Yo yo Marvel this theatrical, drama on stage Broadway classical, led men to rage Like currents, the beat change and now a flow is strange You in the arctic wit wolves that viciously main Thugs that roam clubs, in the dark wit fireworks that spark Saltwater vibrations comin from sharks Blood-thirsty kids bite just as well as I write You're like secretaries who can't type, you're no use Broke down vessels who want a boost, there's no jokes Quick fast you, get stumped cuz you played, your organ pump Kool-Aid, from Indiana wit the Jones of a Lost Crusade Hip-hop done hit the church, choir girls rockin mini skirts The b-side kept plenty hurt Push like the shovels in snow storms And stack piles of foul, the shit you must GROW ON! *echoes* Chorus [Method Man] 4x Uh and it goes like this Uh uh uh uh, it goes like that [Method Man] Pay no attention to the evil they speak You caught the beef wit the equal eye, poisonous beats from underneath Crack the concrete wit two left feet Head on my meat Ain't no games here we playin for keeps (WE PLAY FOR KEEPS!) Introducing, the crowd seducing man on the street Penitentiaries is either half-dead or too sweet Back to basic, condition-al god, plus I can take it Wagin war within the matrix, it's hard to see Touch, hear, smell or even taste it, take your places We runnin in these human races, bucking naked Back-slappin kid yappin, actin villian catchin feelin like we cap peelin As if we killin every brick in every project building From Cabrini Green to Tildens, sincerely yours Mista Meth and Maximilion (da millions, da millions) (Ka ka ka ka ka ka ka KAAA!) (da millions ha!) Chorus 5x [Method Man] Uh uh uh uh Uh uh uh uh Wu-Tang Killa Bees on the swarm (WE PLAY FOR KEEPS!) (WE PLAY FOR KEEPS!) Wu-Tang Killa Bees on the swarm And it goes like this
Duel Of The Iron Mike
Intro:
Ohh mad one
We see your trap
You can never escape, your fate
Submit with honor to a duel, with my son
I agree
I see you using an old style, I wondered where you had learned it from
You know very well, it's yours too
[Yo God, it's a duel, it's a duel] Heh, by the Gods, will you show me?
[buck buck buck buck buck buck ] And where do you come for?
[Duel of the Iron Mic ] You come here, since you're so interested
[Duel of the Iron Mic ] Fight me
[In the moonlight niggaz I will strike]
[What, what? Bring it!]
Verse One: The Genius
Yo
Picture bloodbaths and elevator shafts
Like these murderous rhymes tight from genuine craft
Check the print, it's where veterans spark the letterings
Slow moving MC's is waitin for the editin
The liquid soluble that made up the chemistry
A gaseous element, that burned down your ministry
Herbal vapors, and biblical papers
Smokin Exodus, every square yard is plush
Fuck the screw-faced photo sessions facial expression
leaves impressions, try to keep a shark nigga guessin
Give crazy shouts Son here's the outcome
Cut across the semi-gloss rhymes you floss
Shit is outdated, just like neckloads of Sterlings
Suede-fronts, bell-bottoms, and tri-colored Shearlings
I ain't particular, I bang like vehicular homicides
on July 4th in Bed-Stuy
Where money don't grown on trees and there's thievin MC's
Who cut-throat to rake leaves
They can't breathe, blood splash, rushin fast
like runnin rivers, I be that whiskey in your liver
Chorus: Ol Dirty Bastard
Duel of the Iron Mic!
It's the fifty-two fatal strikes!
Verse Two: Master Killer
This is not a eighty-five affair, made clear
when the Gods get on to perform storms blew up
Wu's up, causin the crowd to self-destruct
Killer bees are stingin somethin while I reveal
Science, that's heavily guarded by the culprit
Bombin your barracks, with aerodynamic
swordplay, poison darts by the doorway
Minds that's laced with explosive doses
Damagin lyrical launcher
Lunge at the youthful offender then injure
any contender, testin the murderous Master
could lead to disaster, dynamite thoughts
explode through your barrier, rips the retina
Who can withstand the astonishing punishing
Stings to the sternum, shocked in the hip-hop livestock
Seekin for a serum, to cure em
Verse Three: Inspector Deck
Adults kill for drugs plus the young bucks bust
Duckin handcuffs, throats get cut when dough rush
Out of town foes look shook but still pose
We move lioke real pros through the streets we stroll
Bullet holes lace the windows in one-six oh
So control the avenues that's the dream that's sold
Bulding lobbies are graveyards for small-timers
Bitches caught in airports, keys in they vaginas
No peace, yo the police mad corrupt
You get bagged up, dependin if you're passin the cut
Plus shorty's not a shorty no more, he's livin heartless
Regardless of the charges, claims to be the hardest
individual, critical thoughts, criminal minded
Blinded by illusion, findin it confusin
Outro: Ol Dirty Bastard
Duel of the iron mics [The master, he must be dreaming, heh]
It's that fifty-two fatal strikes [Well, if he is dreaming...]
Duel of the iron mics [...then he must be asleep]
It's that fifty-two fatal strikes, NUH [And if he is asleep]
[then I will wake him up!]
[WeahhhHAAH-HAH-HAH!]
At the height of their fame and glory, they turned on one another
Each struggling in vain for ultimate supremacy
In the passion and depth of their struggle
They very art, that had raised them through such rapiant heights was lost
Their techniques, vanished
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