For Heavens Sake

Yeah, one, two, one, two

It's the Wu creeping in the shadows

Sir I, Excalibur

Yo, aye, my rap style swing like Willie Mays

My eyes purple haze, my solar razor burn through shades

Bomb and 'nades raid the airwaves, catch this rap page

I glide like hovercrafts on the everglades

Born master with the faster blade track slasher

Manufacture poems to microphones, bones fracture

Limited edition composition spark friction, non-fiction

The calm bomb keep your arm distant

Zero tolerance, dominant intelligence

Wu original, true colors straight from the melanin

The most high, most try, to get close by

And overthrow I, but choke, with their hopes up high

I circulate the tri-state and vibrate beyond the Richter

Fly sense to flock when they spot this live ****

The crowd seduce or black your third eye before I lose ya

Verbal high, leave stars in the eyes of Medusa

Top ten, probably like Cochran and Sharpton

Narrow margin of your odds to dodge the marksmen

Murder rap, kill you soft like Roberta Flack

Words attack like a British bulldog, observe the stacks

Now all pay tribute to this entity

A spark that surges through the undergrowth

Overwhelming the populace from the entry

The Wu-Tang dynasty has emerged

From this elite fleet, I was appointed to strike the vital nerve

Mouths tend to utter and speak empty words

Observe the magnetic attraction as we breathe

Seeds of M.C.'s that these fake ass industry **** feed off

The chrome mic tend to squeeze off and spray

An array of shots that travel downwind

Disrespect my prolific pen as I ascend

The minds of the weak, to rise and take power

I be towering over the land, as we stand

Expanding our cream, a dollar to every grain of sand

Let the mind use the physical as planned

Yo, yo, this is Beirut

Try to comprehend, check out my new suit

Thoughts blend, aim, take fire, pure destruction

Disappear from here, my year, drop the stupid L.P.'s everywhere

Falling out the sky, talk sniper

Raps by Cappadonna hit the countryside

Poetry whirlpool, RZA and truth collide

We produce article exception to the rule

We the black men that struck oil, the hard boil

Cats that made that Watergate thing go spoiled

The heavy handed, locked down, standing with Cyrus

Wu pirates sneak inside the club, low eyes

Low down dirty, twelve thirty, night time crawlers

Off the Wallers, basketball gun brawlers

Smoked out, throw both fists for nine-seven

Slang revving, put the best work in