Clan in da Front

And my DJ the catcher, he's my man
Niggaz on the left
The response while I bomb that ass, you ain't shit
Throw your shitty drawers in the hamper
Fuckin' wit my style is sort of like a miracle
Punks in the back, c'mon and attract to
The Rza, the Gza, Ol Dirty Bastard, Inspectah Deck, U God
Peace and every fuckin' borough
Raw Desire, Levon, Power Cipher
Wu-Tang killa beez, we on a swarm
Brag shit to death
What's that in your pants ahh human feces
Niggaz on the left, brag shit to death
Souped up niggaz on a stage get rushed
Crooklyn, Manhattan, Queens, Staten Island
How ya sound B? You're better off a quitter
Punks in the back
Twelve o'clock, Sixtysecond Assassin, The Fourth Disciple
Hoods on the right, wild for the night

Niggaz on the left, brag shit to death
I gamed Ella, the bitch caught a fitz like Gerald
Egos is somethin' the Wu-Tang crush
Due Due Lilz, Mista Hezakiah better known as the Yin and the Yang

To what
Pass the bone, kid pass the bone
The Wu is comin' through, the outcome is critical
The motherfuckin' Bronx, killa beez
Let's get on this mission like Indiana Jones, the Gza
Wu-Tang's comin' through with full metal jackets
I don't give a goddamn, on the shows you did
Hoods on the right
Scientific Shabazz, my motherfuckin' man Wise the Civilized
The True Master, Ason, DJ Skane, the True Robocop comin' through
Killah
Wu-Tang killa beez, we on a swarm
'Cuz I don't know ya therefore show me what you know
Hoods on the right, wild for the night
Hoods on the right, wild for the night
Clan in da front, let your feet stomp
Niggaz on the left, brag shit to death
Wu-Tang killa beez, we on a swarm
Anyway he's the one who devised the plan
Wu-Tang
Let your feet stomp
Make way for the merge of traffic
So, it really doesn't matter on how you intrigue
So stop, the life you save may be your motherfuckin' own
Comin' down from the motherfuckin' South end of things
Hoods on the right, wild for the night

I come sharp as a blade and I cut you slow
Next time come strapped with a fuckin' pamper
Your wack ass town had you gassed
You can't fuck with those in the major leagues

Choppin' off your motherfuckin' dome
Thirty six chambers of death
Face
How many rhymes you got or who knows you kid?
Wu-Tang killa beez, we on a swarm
To what?
Clan in da front, let your feet stomp
Punks in the back, c'mon and attract to
The Shaolin soldiers, Daddy O and Poppa Ron
Clan in da front, let your feet stomp
With the game and soul, of an old school flick
On 34th street in the Square of Herald
Shyheim AKA the Rugged Child
'Cuz the hoe didn't win but the sun will still come out tomorrow
Like the Mack and Dolemite, who both did bids
Claudine went to Cooley high and had mad kids
I throw the rhymes to the mic and I strike 'em out
Niggaz on the left, brag shit to death
You become so pat as my style increases
And shine, shine, shine like gold mine
God squad that's mad hard to serve

Clan in da front, let your feet stomp
Punks in the back, c'mon and attract to
Geraldine Ferraro, who's full of sorrow
Punks in the back, c'mon and attract to
Hoods on the right, wild for the night
Niggaz on the left, brag shit to death
Come frontin' hard, then Bernhard Goetz what he deserves
Here comes the drunk Monk, with a quart of Ballentine

One who just represent the Wu-Tang click
He throws the signs I hook up the beats with clout
Killa beez all over your fuckin' planet
Punks in the back
Wild for the night
I'll hang your ass with this microphone
Hoods on the right
I'm on the mound G and it's a no hitter
Punks in the back, c'mon and attract to
Three hundred and sixty degrees of perfected styles
The Brand White, K.D. the Down Low Wrecka
Ghostface Killah, The Method Man, Raekwon the Chef, The Masta killa
The sword, c'mon, give him the sword