| Here it is. |
| Where’s it at? |
| In the back. |
| Got a stack
|
| The Dirty Bastard. |
| Yo, you Bastard flip the phat track
|
| Here I go, here I go, whether friend whether foe
|
| Let them know that I flow over the rainbow
|
| Hit the deck. |
| Aw, yep, *ch-ch plow* from the Tek
|
| Takin' heads, takin' necks. |
| What the fuck they expect?
|
| I don’t know! |
| I don’t care! |
| I won’t fall! |
| I won’t stare
|
| At a ho, 'less I know that I’m going to the mo-
|
| T-t-tel, 'cause I’m lousy, my technique is drowsy
|
| Stop tryin' to foul me, sayin' that we’re lousy
|
| But I’m a tyrant, defiant, walkin' New York Giant
|
| President of the Wu, but I’m also a client
|
| It’s the Wu, what, you knew what, you do what, what, who, what, what
|
| I don’t give a flying fuck about a chump
|
| Cause his heart only pumps Kool-Aid
|
| Snatch a kid by the braids, and cut his head off
|
| Rhymes is rugged like burnt buildings in Harlem
|
| The Ol' Dirty Bastard from the Temple of Shaolin
|
| Dirty to the brain like drops of acid rain
|
| Clang, clang, clang, rhymes pluckin' at your brain
|
| So take a sip from the cup of death
|
| And when you’re shaking my right hand, I’ll stab you with the left
|
| Ason comin' straight from the dirt
|
| Once I go berzerk, mad brothers got hurt
|
| Nuthin' new in ninety-two, it’s time to go to work
|
| Trills, watch them scream once I hop on the scene
|
| They fear the return of the fatal flying guillotine
|
| Mr. Milli, that means I’m also militant
|
| Don’t wear no suit and tie, I’m no gentleman
|
| Gettin' laid, takin' heads, that’s my hobby
|
| Punch a brother in the face who call me Robbie
|
| I be the RZA, call me that cuz-I
|
| Never liked the name I received from my poppa
|
| Dirty deluxe, yo, I’m huntin' for ducks
|
| Snatchin' devils up by the hair, then cut his head off |