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RZA

Samurai Showdown (Raise Your Sword) – RZA

[Intro: The RZA]
Yo, it’s a samurai showdown
Samurai showdown…
(Aight, A.T.M.) How dare you challenge me?
You will die from the tip of my sword today
Huh, the trenches, we must remain calm
Right, prepare to die

[Chorus x2: The RZA]
Yo, it’s born-born, young Lord, raise your swords
Yo, it’s born-born, young Lord, raise your swords

[The RZA]
Yo, yo
Hailin from the slums of Shaolin, golden claw, talon twirl
And one swirl of the fatal sword splits your Island
Wu Killa Bees’ stingers back on the swarm again
BZZZZZZ, the alarm again, six direction weapon deflectin
Bones connect like opposite sides of magnets
Steel fragments bein chipped off a slingin sword slash
With the force of big crash in your dash board with no airbag
He drove a ninety-nine Jaguar
Quick to pick a lock, lick a shot
Respect the Bloods and Crips a lot
Plus the God from Ride saggin in his seat, blastin Wu beats
Tryin to plot his next hit
He took a drag of the eight elements that composed, atmospheric gas
‘Bout to let off his sword, and full blast
Kept his mind focused, meditation position half lotus
Abbot’s sword novas couldn’t match his magnum opus
Deluxe stroke, son move like a ghost
Struck in an instance, unnoticed like a lamp post
Radar sharp precision gunfire, explode
Till his clips unload, it’s a samurai code

[Chorus]
It’s born-born, young Lord, raise your swords [x5]
Time for everyone to go record
It’s born-born, young Lord, raise your swords
Time for everybody to go record

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[The RZA]
Crept in silent, the steel wind
Chrome silencers screwed on tight kept the gunshots just sealed in
We attack, full fledge
with Chicago Bull red bandanas tied tight around our heads
Swing with the force of a sledge
Single-edge stainless steel blade chopped the wedge
Slit this analog derelicts head
Who even thought that
he could go against the truth and the Gods and fall back?
From the will of Allah, you’ll be facin the firing squad
of a thousand archers out to mark ya
The bill top scully king blocks bullets like jelly beans
Birds in my nest restin up, on the telly scene
Murderous rap track to me, is ego felony
Can’t accept what you analog cats be tellin me
I get the verbal weapon, won’t hesitate for one second
to break your back like Big Jack from Tekken

[Chorus]
It’s born-born, young Lord so raise your swords
It’s born-born, young Lord, raise your swords [x2]

[Instrumental for the next 1:17]

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RZA

N.Y.C. Everything – RZA

Lirik lagu: N.Y.C. Everything

[RZA/Bobby Digital:]
Yo, yo, yo
From the heart of Medina to the head of Fort Greene
Now-Y-C/Now I see Everything
Niggas who sling, Shaolin cats throw inside a bing
Bobby Digital got the golden seal sting
Rhyme star, I write a hundred thousand dollar bar
My pinstripe comma deletes your power bar
Dr. Octopus tentacles, same as different song
Bob Digital instrumental, nothing’s indentitcal
You biter, non-writer, Mr. Potato Head or Ida
Deep-fried crinkle cut, one nickel cup fucked your whole LP up
You must be stupid you liar
I’m the purifier, live wire, hip-hop reviver
A suicide mission you’re committin, go against the Wu-Tang henchmen
Perfect precision marksman, spit darts an, flip charts ‘an
Archery, shots aimed at your heart then
Daffy Duckest will still +Bring Da Motherfuckin Ruckus+
Project Killa Hill be the buckest
Smoke blunts drink Bud Light beer wit Buzz Lightyear
Wet from here to infinity for them white hair
Bobby Digital, overthrow your whole citadel
Mista pitiful, your whole shrap stack is dispicable
Undernourished, your shit cannot flourish
Cherish every moment of his love before you perish
Bitch, chicka chicka chich, watch me switch
Lookin for a bird, I can hitch, into your atmosphere
Take your pussy out like a pap smear
Make you smile, at the same time crack a tear
Smack ya rear, vagina saliva, Trojan wear, rough rider
Up inside ya, dick applehead, opens up your clit wider
Taste the apple cider, you become strong, then become a ?prider?
(Bobby Bobby Bobby, Digi Digi Digi)
Stuck to your ass like a Victoria’s Secret wedgie
Heart of Medina to the head of Fort Greene
Now-Y-C/Now I see Everything
Niggas who sling, Shaolin cats thrown inside the bing
Bobby Digital got the killa bee sting
From the heart of Medina to the head of Fort Green
Now-Y-C Everything, niggas who sling
Shaolin cats is thrown inside the bing
Bobby Digital got the killa bee sting

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[Method Man:]
Drink a Heineken, as we go inside the mind again
Nevermindin men droppin gem, can he shine again
Most definate, let this be my last willing testament
For the pesimist, exercise for the Exorcist
Johnny Treacherous, like Three, I’m supposed to be
Perpetuous, desimate the poetry cuz everything is close to me
The lectorous, Jonathan, king of the seven seas, battle wit Leviathan
The Methodist, poly to your deficit, hit it up
If I can’t live it up somebody gotta give it up
John J., blow em out the water adopt the Bombay
Your bitch look like Strange’, look at me the wrong way
Burn one and sautee, bringin you different ways to sword play
They bustin Bullets Over Broadway, Deep Cover
I’m like Larry when the Fish-burn, I burn rubber
Cuz I’m not an easy lover
To the midnight, butt naked wit a knife
Ask my a-alikes, I’ve been crazy all my life
Hardtime homicide, time flys, do or die
Crooked ass and crooked eye, scripture from the darkside
Johnny 5, I reside, in the killa bee hive,
only the strong gon’ survive
From the depths of the killa to the top, we’re now born
Wildin on Staten Island be the poet John John
Can’t forget Bobby, if I did I’d feel gyp
Like my sandwich ain’t a sandwich without Miracle Whip
From the depths of the killa to the top, we’re now born
Wildin on Staten Island be the poet John John
Can’t forget Digi, if I did I’d feel gyp
Like my sandwich ain’t a sandwich without Miracle Whip

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RZA

Take Sword Pt. I (Feat. Beretta 9) – RZA

Lirik lagu: Take Sword Pt. I (Feat. Beretta 9)

[Intro: “Shaolin Vs. Wu-Tang” sample]
“Take the sword”
“The sword?”
“Come on, give me the sword”
“Huh?”
“Heh, you Wu-Tang are never gonna win”
“My lord, don’t be afraid of the Wu-Tang techniques”
“Pick up the sword!”

[RZA:]
Yo, aiyo, chumps are in trouble, boy, tongue pay double, boy
I’m trump tight, you better go home, and cuddle, boy
I leave you ducks in a puddle, buried under cuz of rubble
Turn your body, to sparks and stubbles
Hot lead from the cylinder, from my two-shot dillinger
Put that hot steel in ya, bigger not feeling ya
Bio hazard, to ya flesh and ya fabric
No need to scratch your hair, son, the clean to my static
Strange apparatus and gadgets, my bullets got magnets
Pop pop pop, we attract to that crab shit
Super superior stamina, there’s a Clan of us
All of what bulldozers, hard hats and jack hammers
And leather Old Testament copies, I’ll probably
Give you a out of body experience, then hide your body
So there’s no return, so burn, baby, burn
My click fucking sick, nigga, learn, baby, learn
I got Milwaukee chicks like Shirley and Laverne
They bite ya dick off, after swallowing your sperm
And slice ya fucking throat while you lay there in sperm
They related to the judge, to the case, to the germ
You chumps are in trouble, boy, I said tongue pays double, boy
I”m trump tight, you better go home, and cuddle, boy
I put your head in a puddle, buried under cuz of rubble
Turn your body, to sparks and stubbles
Frickles and fragles, nigga, get too fragile
Pump the fuck up, my brain, is on Scrabble

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[Beretta 9:]
Aiyo, back for this annual conference, confronted on
You wack MC’s, it’s duck season, the hunt is on
What B9 squeezing and game is locked, a run upon
Thinking that you were the shit, nah, that’s once upon
I doubt my run while you sit, I bust my gun from the hip
Why even make you a song, and when you ain’t worth a skit
My niggas kill for the sum, and the’ll be cursed for the flick
Probably til midnight until, scheeming on pussy to split
And then we back like crack, nigga, take a swig of that
Twist a twenty sack of black, figure, oh he a good kid
Such a nice smile he had, oh one more state
Then I whip it on that, slip slipping in the grass
Sip sipping on the glass, now I’m dipping down the ave.

[Outro: “Shaolin Vs. Wu-Tang” sample]
“Take the sword”
“The sword?”
“Come on, give me the sword”
“Huh?”
“Heh, you Wu-Tang are never gonna win”
“My lord, don’t be afraid of the Wu-Tang techniques”

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RZA

Grits (Feat. Allah Real, Masta Killa) – RZA

Lirik lagu: Grits (Feat. Allah Real, Masta Killa)

[Hook: Allah Real]
When I was small
We had nothing at all
We used to eat Grits, for dinner
It was pain
almost drive a man insane
what we could find for
to survive another day
but I said nah…

[RZA]
An old killa bee once hummed me a tune
Stay up at night, don’t sleep on ya moon
Four seeds in the bed, eight seeds in the room
Afternoon cartoon, we would fight for the spoon
Old Earth in the kitchen, yell “it’s time to eat”
Across the foyer, ya hear the gather of stampeding feet
One pound box of sugar, and a stick of margarine
A hot pot of Grits got my family from starvin’
Loose with the welfare cheese, thick wit’ the gravy
used to suck it, straight out the bottle as a baby
Steamy hot meal serve less than five minutes
Big silver pot, boilin’ water, salt in it
House full of brothers and sisters, the pop’s missin’
Pillsbury box on the stove in the kitchen

[Hook]

[Masta Killa]
Young shorties in my hood started hustlin’
Packin’ bags at the neighbourhood associate
Growin’ up, not as fortunate to have that fly shit
I’m too young, no jobs’d hire me legit
You walkin’ down the street with ya gun in ya hand
Drinkin, thinkin’ of a masterplan
Your Old Earth can’t afford what ya friends got
So you roll up to the spot, with ya thing ‘pon cock
And it seems worth the takin’, stomach achin’
Morning star Reggie makin’ go good with the Grits
Now let’s take it back for real
when we used to build at ghetto big wheels
with the shoppin’ cart wheels, and wood to nail the seat on
Girls skippin’ rope in the street
the Summer heat, left the jelly prints stuck to they feet
Skelly chief, flippin’ baseball cards for keeps
Momma said it’s gettin’ late, and it’s time to come eat

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[Hook]

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