Living in the World Today

[Intro: RZA, GZA] Yo (yeah), check it out, son, check it out, son Yo (Wu, can I get a soo?), live in the place to be You got the capital G, Z to the A, MC Givin' a mad shout out to the Ranch Crew, from the old school And we gonna take y'all back, know what I'm sayin'? Lyrical sorcerors right here, the fathers, the cream of the crop, son (Yo, check it) [Hook: GZA, RZA, Method Man] Well, if you livin' in the world today You be hearin' the slang that the Wu-Tang say Niggas that front, we don't have 'em So we blast 'em, alright, well, ok Well, if you like the way it sounds, then clap, man And if the women love it too, well, then raise your hands But only raise your hands if you're sure Punk niggas shatter like a glass jaw, break it [Verse 1: GZA] My rhyme gross weight vehicle combination Was too heavy for the Chevy's, is chased out the station Double-edged was the guillotine that beheaded it Gassed up, fuckin' with some regular unleaded shit Heads roll on hillsides behind ropes that Bind-in, X marks the spot on the scope Heavily armed, military is necessary, it's a gamble MCs bet they best at every Powerful parable ditties might harm If tampered with, set off and strike like pipe bombs Flashbacks to the "Duel of the Iron Mic" Look out for these fatal flying spikes, of massive Sleep-holds, put strangle on commercial angle Microphone cords tangled from being Star Spangled Now, who could ever say they heard of this? My motherfuckin' style is mad murderous [Inverted hook] [Interlude: Method Man, GZA] Well, what you know about MCin'? Yo, I know a lot Well, can you demonstrate somethin', nigga? Huh, I'd rather not I'm talkin 'bout stacks, cousin Nigga, that's what I got Cash Rules the world Well, Cash Rules the spot [Verse 2: GZA] My preliminary attack keep cemeteries packed Of niggas who think it ain't like that MCs are gunned down like being run down with mad trucks Then, God struck, religious niggas call it "bad luck" Rap celeb, you got caught up in the web Now, bees are stingin', yo, that niggas em-singin' I'm just swingin' swords strictly based on keyboards Unbalanced like elephants and ants on see-saws I throw raps that attack like the Japs on Pearl Harbor MCs be out like bank robbers Fleeing the scene, to be a sole survivor DJ, the getaway driver Tried to dip, but he dive, I socialize on vocal vibes On tracks stabbed up with razor-sharp knives Criminal subliminal minded rappers find it Hard to define it, when narrow is the gate For fat tapes and, then, played out and out of date Then I construct my thoughts on site to renovate And from that point, the God made a statement Draftin' tracements, replacements in basements Materials in sheet-rock, to sound proof the beatbox And microscopic optics received through the boxes Obnoxious topic, major labels, flavor tropical Punchlines, that's unstoppable Ring like shots from Glocks that attract cops Around the clubs and try to shut down the hip-hop But we only increase if everything is peace Father You See King the police [Hook x2]