Intro: The Genius/GZA (from "Clan in Da Front"). Niggaz on the left brag shit to death. Now hoods on the right wild for the night. Punks in the back c'mon and attract to what. Clan in da front let your feet stomp. Niggaz on the left brag shit to death. Hoods on the right wild for the night. Punks in the back c'mon and attract to what. ---. This goes back to nineteen... Ahem check it yo. GOOD MORNING VIETNAM!!. Yeah good morning to all you motherfuckin notty-headed niggaz. Word to the camoflouge large niggaz. Bitch niggaz fuckin my body. Bring that fuckin meth in here. Yo yo yo yo. Now we gonna drink some good Nightrain. Verse One: Raekwon the Chef. Champion gear that I rock you get your boots knocked. Then attack you like a pit that lock shit DOWN. As I come and freaks the sound hardcore. but giving you more and more like ding!. Nah shorty get you open like six packs. Killer Bees attack flippin what murder one phat tracks. A'ight? I kick it like a Night Flite!. Word life I get that ass while I'm fulla spite!. Check the method from Bedrock cause I rock ya head to bed. Just like rockin what? Twin glocks!. Shake the ground while my beats just break you down. Raw sound we going to war right now. So yo bombin. We Usually Take All Niggaz Garments. Save ya breath before I bomb it. Verse Two: Method Man. I be that insane nigga from the psycho ward. I'm on the trigger plus I got the Wu-Tang sword. So how you figure that you can even fuck with mine?. Hey yo RZA! Hit me with that shit one time!. And pull a foul niggaz save the beef on the cow. I'm milkin this ho this is MY show tical. The FUCK you wanna do? More than Spike Lee's Do. I'm like a sniper hyper off the ginseng root. PLO style buddha monks with the owls. So who's the fucking man? Meth-Tical. On the chessbox. Verse Three: Inspector Deck. Yo yeah yo. I leave the mic in body bags my rap style has. The force to leave you lost like the tribe of Shabazz. Murderous material made by a madman. It's the mic wrecker Inspector bad man. From the bad lands of the killer rap fanatic. Representing with the skill that's iller. Dare to compare get pierced just like an ear. The zoo-we-do-wop-bop strictly hardware. Armed and geared cause I just broke out the prison. Charged by the system - for murdering the rhythm!. Now lo and behold another deadly episode. Bound to catch another fuckin charge when I explode. Verse Four: Ghostface Killer. Slammin a hype-ass verse til ya head burst. I ramshack dead in the track and that's that. Rap assassin fastin quick to blast and hardrock. I ran up in spots like Fort Knox!. I'm hot top notch Ghost thinks with logic. Flashback's how I attacked your whole project. I'm raw I'm rugged and raw! I repeat if I die. My seed'll be ill like me. Approachin me you out of respect chops ya neck. I get vexed like crashing up a phat-ass Lex'. So clear the way make way yo! Open the cage. Peace I'm out jettin like a runaway slave. Verse Five: Prince Rakeem/RZA. Yo. Ya gettin stripped from ya garments boy run ya jewels. While the meth got me open like falopian tubes. I bring death to a snake when he least expect. Ain't a damn thing changed boy Protect Ya Neck. Ruler Zig Zag Zig-Allah jam is fatal. Quick to stick my Wu-Tang sword right through ya navel. Suspenseful plus bein bought through my utensil. The pencil I break strong winds up against your. Abbot that run up through your county like the Maverick. Caps through the tablets I gots to make the fabrics. Verse Six: Ol Dirty Bastard. Are you uh ah uh. Are you a warrior? Killer? Slicin shit like a samurah. The Ol' Dirty Bastard VUNDABAH. Ol' Dirty clan of terrorists. Comin atcha ass like a sorceress shootin' that PISS!. Niggaz be gettin on my fuckin nerves. Rhymes they be kickin make me wanna kick they fuckin ass to the curb. I got funky fresh like the old specialist. A carrier messenger bury ya. This experience is for the whole experience. Let it be applied and THEN DROP THAT SCIENCE. Verse Seven: Genius/GZA. My my my. My Clan is thick like plaster. Bust ya slash ya. Slit a nigga back like a Dutch Master Killer. Style jumped off and Killa Hill-er. I was the thriller in the Ali-Frazier Manilla. I came down with phat tracks that combine and interlock. Like getting smashed by a cinder block. Blaow! Now it's all over. Niggaz seeing pink hearts yellow moons. orange stars and green clovers