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​Wu Banga 101

This song is by Ghostface Killah and appears on the album Supreme Clientele (2000).

(GZA)
Yo, too advanced, Digi' stance, made the CD enhanced
I move with the speed and strength of ants
Identical in form with the Beez they swarm
Hold up the cold current appear warm
My first verbal brawl, started on some yes yes y'all
To the beat y'all, break your windshield, your jeep stall
Mr. Traffic, dumbin shit, from ecclesiastic
Cashier, holdin' out, fine, cut off the plastic
See the logo? A monument in hip-hop
Carved out, in the giant landscape, of broken rocks
Whether heard in herb spots, jukebox or malt shops
Uncut live, drop eighty-five, in one shot
Spotlight hits the metal mic, majority stare
Heard the Wu snare, while my iris cut down the glare
Walk a road the great length you find too long to measure
My Clan a make me rhyme like D. Banner under pressure
No surprise, double disc touched five
Those elements, kept environments colonized
With the high flyin death-defyin flow like the Rebel
Right there, but you're one light year, from my level

(Ghostface)
Uh-huh... yeah... yo... check it... yo...
Bottles goin' off in the church, we broke the wine
Slapped the pastor, didn't know Pop had asthma
He pulled out his blue bible, change fell out his coat
Three condoms, two dice, one bag of dope
Ooh! Rev. ain't right, his church ain't right
Deacon is a pimp, tell by his eyes
Mrs. Parks said, "Brother Starks, meet you at the numbers spot
Heard you got red tops out, and I want a lot"
Shirley fainted dead on the spot
Two ushers slipped eighty dollars right out the pot
Oh shit!

(Raekwon the Chef)
Egyptian, brown skin brown suede Timbs
Masqueradin X-rated throw blades, all occasions
Round nozzle touchdown, Haagen-Daas gobbles White House
Gucci flag on the roof, call us rock groups
Mere intelligent, buy Nieman Marc' it out
No doubt, all we saw he bought, Lori mom's all blow
Was simple, blamp instrumentals run camps the stamps get you
The way we lamp, fans come and get you
Play, fullback strapped like a fuck, war at
The black, Carlo Gambino's stash house in Hackensack
Pack capsules, Green Bay 'em lay 'em down like wax do
It's all actual we build, like Crash Crew
Coconut, incense, one sentence, aiyyo
Control the holy flinch hit this, new whips
Roman numerals, sun splash them niggaz like, Tango and Cash
Alcatraz cats roll out fast...

(Cappadonna)
Wu thousand nothin' but hardcore
We tryin' to get land riches and more
Ghost put me on to it
We just do it, floss or whatever
Take care of the business, there's too many roughnecks
Give two of these to Flex, tell him it's real rap like Ghost
Had to beat niggaz with toast
Clubs V.I. clientele we lay it down flat
Poot out on y'all kid, now where your man's at?
Fakin the real like, "Damn I can't stand Cappa'"
Then my wardrobe flooded the next chapter
Y'all heard about us like we heard about you
Bless the mic with reality, hit you with the virtue
Calm down not tryin' to hurt you, burst through
That shit, fatter than all y'all niggaz outfits
We the glitch like Y2K
Catch the ball when it drop, guns pop, y'all have a nice day

Written by:

Gary E. Grice; Ronald Maurice Bean; Darryl Robert Hill; Elgin Evander Turner; Corey Woods; Jason Richard Hunter; Dennis D. Coles

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