We like Dorothy Hamill on ice
We in your hood we might circle, hats down low in the Range
Switch lanes, change my tire, peel out

Real loud on the stage yo, I shitted on your hood kid
I shitted on your hood, got to your burner too late
I'm lookin' real good, draped out, shinin' like a fresh fifty cent piece
Your girlfriend, c'mere
Oh shit, you my man's niece, the gourmet pocket twenty

Bombs made of clay, Sexcapades take place
We fucked in forty-eight shades might walk up in your studio
Time slap your engineer, it's lighter fluid to that style
Hand me the matches now

Aiyyo rainbow Roley on the wrist, now what's this
Niggaz bless this, eight and a half, Bally banana twist
E shakes, puffin' on lye, feedin' the seed's plate
Pullin' out, old dirty eights to rob gates

Major wake up, the kid telltales, make a nigga head wake up
Beats break, the nigga would take off his time
Honolulu status, gladdest
The rich rock cabbage and dollar vans grands

That nigga mad savage, stationary Hall of Justice
Niggaz came clumped out
Just came home, now they bunked out
Money be longer than triple life

'Til the sun burn out, that's my word, move it with the burner out
Fidel way of thinkin', roll with the Mac bent Ac-10
Most of my team, Five Percent check what the live said
Rollin with Guess vests pedestrians yo
Holdin' my nuts, fuckin' thousand dollar lesbians

Yo, the Older God put me on and had to rock this
Maintain Three-Sixty Lord live prosperous
It only takes a lesson a day, just to analyze life
One time in the respectable mind

Yo, the Older God put me on and had to rock this
Maintain Three-Sixty Lord live prosperous
It only takes a lesson a day, just to analyze life
One time in the respectable mind

Let the shot spark, soon as his pit bull barks
Tire scars from skid marks leaves from jams in school parks
Witness, forget his original statement
Even in protection programs there's no escapement

Gunned down, we in town, hit king from seven crowns
Spent rounds catch him while he rhyme in the Zebra Lounge
Wounded, back in the eighty three summer heat
Up in three-oh-nine park, rhymin' off the drummer's beat

I stalk the city streets demonstratin' mic wrecks
All lookin' stank, I ain't playin' wit a full deck
And as they nervously stare, I know they scared
They saw the coming of Wu, the neon in Times Square

Household name, assassin, killa bee
Mill to the grain, that posses the Wu, trilogy
Quick to spot those that bite camouflage and blend
Those that got styles, they got identical twins

Don't stretch the small thing, copycats are finnicky
Without skills, they master the art of mimicry
But I go line for line on the whole page
Your unspotted life on the mic is old age