9 Milli Bros.

[Produced by Metal Fingers] [Intro 1: RZA] Bob Digi, U G-O-D, Raekwon the Chef The Inspectah Deck! M.E.T.H.O.D. Man (The B-O-B-B! Straight up) Masta Killa! The GZA/The Genius! It's the Ol' D-d-d- D-d-d- D-d-Dirty Bastard! [Intro 2: Ghostface, Ol' Dirtry Bastard, (Cappadonna), (RZA)] 1, 2, 1, 2, (Killa Beez) – turn it up, the headphones! Turn it up.. yo, you hear me? (Whattup, Toney?) Wassup, Don-Don? All the way up...! You know how we do... (Let's get this paper together...) You motherfuckin' right, pa, uh huh (What's up, y'all?) We wanna do it, nigga You know how I like it... Sound about to go in on some real Wu shit, uh-huh (W.T.C.) That's right – ya know what I mean? (GHOST–FACE KILLAH!) Lemme give y'all the bullshit hook for y'all niggas Check it out... [Hook: Ghostface Killah] The burners in the stash, we 'bout the cash We got females, we got it like that The golden childs that bone the crowd See niggas in the place that bit my style Well, I'm a singer, dancer, we bulletproof brothers Wu-Tang got the answer! 'Cause if I had a chance to– Do it again, I will still keep the heat in my pants-uh [Verse 1: Ghostface Killah] Y'all, be nice to the crackheads! Everybody, listen up! I shot one of my bitches, the ho ain't trick enough Word life to big screen Don Tapping dustbones out with star-itis, like I fucked Celine Dion Stuck everything, that's the God's honest, beyond We airin' niggas out, that's the type shit that we on Official Wu-Tang headbanger Flood your space with big waves like it did in Sri Lanka [Verse 2: Raekwon] I drink heavy gallons of Cru, play the big part Niggas got squid on the grill, selling kids Clarks Finesse notes, yo, the Guess on with the vest pose Yellow suede 1, matching hat with the grey gun Niggas be rhymin' for nothing Then my team pull up, we all war down – y'all broke niggas stay frontin' Lines come digital, stupid Plus ain't got no jewelry on, bet I'm still live and I'm Coupe-in' Two of my silverbacks run through a pack of ya wolves Front or react, we're sippin' Cognac brew, relax, dude You know I'm with these cracks, dude [Verse 3: Ol' Dirty Bastard, (RZA)] (One-two, one-two!) Yo... Dirt McGirt! Solid tone Smith, with six shots Lick shots – Leave your head like a Shaolin monk, with 6 dots BROOKLYNNN ZOO! (Zoo, zoo, zoo...) BROKLNYNNNN ZOO! (Zoo, zoo, zoo...) [Verse 4: Cappadonna] It's the return of Bin Laden, grab your armor Smash pretty boy niggas, crush they karma Eat bones with alligators, roll deep with my entourage My whole crew's fresh out the bars Diggler, AKA The Cab Driver Drop 'em off in the middle of fire Dirty Island, drag bodies to the Murderland Knock niggas out, hurtin' my hand [Verse 5: Method Man] I remember in the elevator, we was playin' corners (Yeah) Now we play the corners and the cops is stayin' on us (Uh) Staten's where the raw is Where the court system's running out of warrants Where TNT be jumping out the Taurus (Errrrnnn!) For real, I can't call it You see, I Love Lucy 'cause she Lawless (Yeah) Exactly like that 1-0-3-0-4 is Snitch niggas, swallow your tongue Already know the island I'm from And y'all don't want no problems with them [Verse 6: GZA] We got a history full of lightning victories Conceptual breakthrough, it ain't no mystery Long vision – from giants in every way Rap czars, magnificent flows for every day From the East to the 'ville, from the West to the hills Incredible rhymes, encouraging skills From rat packs, the smallest crews were enormous We hit 'em fast with an effortless performance MCs start fleeing in flocks Especially those that's more sensitive to heat and shock [Verse 7: Inspectah Deck] We grindin' down to the bone, my name grounded in stone I miss the violence, we loungin' with chrome Mr. Violence, we lounge in his home Hit the housing on roam, shining like a hundred thousand in stones Move mountains with poems, got a jones for dinero 1-6-zero my zone, we throwin' elbows The hoes cling, sho' thing, we known kings Only dime types, with minds right – we chose queen [Verse 8: Masta Killa] Yeah, you wild like rock stars who smash guitars Yo, son, split his face with the toast – see, there he goes It's no joke, iron coat rifle with the scope One toke, brains float, shot to the throat Before the smoke hit, witness the killing, chilling crime scene Body on the block, eyes open from the shock Of being popped in the neck Yet he still held a lit cigarette Between his fingers – Danger when you steppin' in the chamber with the Masta Disaster – gotta blast ya, 'cause I have to [Verse 9: U-God] The Rat Pack is back, from the island of Stat' Leave you curb dust, 'cause you worship the gat The first one to snap, drunk off the Smirnoff Blow the bouncer's ear off, let him floss, he the boss Handcuffed, to the turntables, like Wizzard Theodore See this pure? Let it rain, pearly ounces Bang him with the thing that hang from the trousers You don't want no drama, I'm flaming fast That nigga jumped up and did the Damon Dash