My hazardous thoughts to cut the mic's life support short
Brains get stained like tablecloths when I let off
Powerful, poetry pushed past the point of no return
Leavin' mics with third-degree burns
Let me at 'em, I cramp your style like a spasm
Track em through the mud then I bag em
We're screaming hardcore, hip-hop drips out my balls
And I be raw, for four score plus seven more
I strike like a bowling ball, holding y'all hostage
Like hail, electrifying the third rail
Peep the smash on paragraphs of ruckus
Wu-Tang (Clan ain't nuttin ta fukk wit)