Severe Punishment

Check these high hats, thing things, movin' through the rubbish

Party robust, rec room style for you brothers

Time's tickin', erupt misconduct

Entering one funk before the drum dry up

Dial, style, jab vocab slow

Alphabet run construction voice might blow

Tap dance, swelling Hemingway, novel model

For a breather, dirty reefer hide your bottle

Cut down come with somethin' that's 'round and profound

Blood brothers, people of colors, we get down

Watch us fly, force feed things bein' said

Nine diagram acid black evil red leathers

Mic never dangle, serious a man

My mic clapper death wish, everlasting clan

Heavenly God body, know me as the cleaner

Night champion, old villain style steamer

Kiss a spider, Seagal saga, why bother?

Godfather talk drama, fly swatters

This Wu shit be hard to kill when full blown

Rhyme filtered through the net before words hit the chrome

Pro tools editin' tracks, that's rough

'Cause a jam without a live MC isn't enough

So we attack this, and grab all within reach

Throw the scrap back to ****, perfect your own speech

Shit is copper, it ain't worth the mic stands

Use my backup singers in Atlantic City bands

**** look on they get hooked on this mic line

Reeled in and shipped through the pipeline

LP's delivered with style and potential

**** flowin' smoothly in a sequential

Order, revealin' hidden tape recorders

Stashed inside pockets of those who lack aura

Twist the DAC up, them **** with math is backed up

Watch he act up, fifty-two block track we slap up

Playground maneuver, jet to Vancouver like this

Two Kahlúas one chick, she's German Luger

Get the shit on, light a fresh pack, bust it open with the seal on

Done deal on this with the real on

Next rocky ring, call it the Decatur

Slang soufleer home decorater, player

Mic immigrants, nine of us formed resemblance

Somethin' flashy, god dead-armed it's nasty

Peep the ornaments enough to make Shorty-Wop stare at me yo

He killed the god, might as well throw a chair at me

Yo, MC's wonder what's hip hop thunder?

Tell you the truth, it just one nation under a groove

Gettin' down for the funk of it

Like Fred Sanford in the biz

Yo, inhale this paraphernalia, a Wu memorabilia

Melba the fortune teller tried to tell ya

'Bout the group recruit, we scoop up cream like Breyer's

Then spread across the globe like telephone wires

Thirty-six assorted, Shaolin imported

Change what's been recorded, you're fuckin' with the loot

It's time for royalty audit

Fabulous establishment, metabolism, Blackfoot Indian

Cherokee started out smaller than amphibian

Then grew to a physical body with five meridians

As the pendulum swings close to the millennium

Two thousand, wickedness is spread amongst my citizen

I gotta muscle, the industrial to make a hustle

And politic with Leon Russel

When **** is still rushin we'll brush you

Thoughts are contained in the trenches of the brain

Ignite, blowin' the mic to Arabian heights

As I recite this medley

**** couldn't fuck with the deadly grounds I hold down

Classical gangland style, shots hit the ceilin'

Panic and confusion echoes through the buildin'

Continuin' the bill, I strive for perfection

Driven by the will to live, Glocks I hold, shots I give

While searches and rescue teams look for means of survival

And who's liable for this harrowin' experience

You scream for the extreme

Fiend for the capo regimes of the Wu-Tang academy

To fuck up your anatomy with assault and battery