Wu-Tang Clan — Protect Ya Neck Radio Edit

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Текст Wu-Tang Clan — Protect Ya Neck Radio Edit

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So whassup, man?
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Coolin’, man.
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Chillin’ chilin’? Yo, you know I had to call, you why right?
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Why?
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Because, you, I never ever call and ask you to play something, right?
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Yeah.
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You know what I wanna hear, right?
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Whatchu wanna hear?
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I wanna hear that Wu-Tang joint.
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Wu-Tang again?
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Ah, yeah, again and again!

I smoke on the mic like «Smokin’” Joe Frazier,
The hell-raiser, raisin’ hell with the flavor,
Terrorize the jam like troops in Pakistan
Swingin’ through your town like your neighborhood Spider-Man.
So, uhh, tick tock and keep tickin’
While I get you flippin’ off the shit that I’m kickin’,
The Lone Ranger, code red: danger!
Deep in the dark with the art to rip the charts apart.
The vandal, too hot to handle,
You battle, you sayin’ goodbye like Tevin Campbell.
Roughneck, Inspectah Deck’s on the set,
The Rebel, I make more noise than heavy metal.

The way I make the crowd go wild,
Sit back, relax, won’t smile,
Rae got it goin’ on, pal,
Call me the rap assassinator,
Rhymes rugged and built like Schwarzenegger.
And I’ma get mad deep like a threat,
Blow up your project, then take all your assets,
‘Cause I came to shake the frame in half
With the thoughts that bomb shit like Math.
So if you wanna try to flip, go flip on the next man,
‘Cause I grab the clip and
Hit you with 16 shots and more, I got,
Goin’ to war with the melting pot, akh!

It’s the Method Man, for short Mr. Mef,
Movin’ on your left, uh!
And set it off, get it off, let it off like a gat,
I wanna break, fool, cock me back.
Small change, they puttin’ shame in the game,
I take aim and blow the nigga out the frame,
And like fame, my style will live forever,
Niggas crossin’ over, but they don’t know no better.
But I do, true, can I get a «uu?
Nuff respect due to the 1-6-ooh,
I mean ohh, yo, check out the flow,
Like the Hudson or PCP when I’m dustin’.
Niggas off, because I’m hot like sauce,
The smoke from the lyrical blunt make me cough.

Ooh, what?! Grab my nut, get screwed!
Oww! Here comes my Shaolin style!
True, B-A-ba-B-Y-U,
To my crew with a suuu!
[Ol’ Dirty Bastard:]
C’mon, baby, baby, c’mon, baby, baby!
C’mon, baby, baby, c’mon!
Yo, you best protect ya neck!

First things first, man, you’re fuckin’ with the worst,
I’ll be stickin’ pins in your head like a fuckin’ nurse,
I’ll attack any nigga who slack in his mack,
Come fully packed with a fat rugged stack.
Shame on you when you step through to
The Ol’ Dirty Bastard straight from the Brooklyn Zoo,
And I’ll be damned if I let any man
Come to my center, you enter the winter.
Straight up and down, that shit is packed jam,
You can’t slam, don’t let me get fool on him, man,
The Ol’ Dirty Bastard is dirty and stinking
Ason Unique rollin’ with the night of the creeps,
Niggas be rollin’ with a stash, ain’t sayin’ cash,
Bite my style, I’ll bite your mothafuckin’ ass!

For cryin’ out loud, my style is wild, so book me,
Not long is how long that this rhyme took me.
Ejectin’ styles from my lethal weapon,
My pen that rocks from here to Oregon,
There’s more again, catch it like a psycho flashback,
I love gats; if rap was a gun, you wouldn’t bust back,
I come with shit in all types of shapes and sounds,
And where I lounge is my stomping grounds.
I give an order to my peeps across the water
To go and snatch up props all around the border,
And get far like a shooting star
‘Cause who I are is dim in the light of Pablo Escobar.
Point-blank as I kick the square biz,
There it is, you’re fuckin’ with pros, and there it goes.

Yo, chill with the feedback, black, we don’t need that.
It’s 10 o’clock, ho, where the fuck’s your seed at?
Feelin’ mad hostile, wearin’ Aéropostale,
Flowin’ like Christ when I speaks the gospel.
Stroll with the holy robe, then attack the globe
With the buck-us style, the ruckus.
Ten times ten men committin’ mad sin,
Turn the other cheek and I’ll break your fuckin’ chin!
Slayin’ boom-bangs like African drums,
He’ll be comin’ around the mountain when I come.
Crazy flamboyant for the rap enjoyment,
My clan increase like black unemployment.
Yeah, another one down,
Ju-Jugger-Genius, take us the fuck outta here!

The Wu is too slammin’ for these Cold Killin’ labels,
Some ain’t had hits since I seen Aunt Mabel,
Be doin’ artists in like Cain did Abel,
Now they money’s gettin’ stuck to the gum under the table.
That’s what you get when you misuse what I invent,
Your empire falls and you lose every cent,
For tryna blow up a scrub,
Now that thought was just as bright as a twenty Watt light bulb.
Should’ve pumped it when I rocked it,
Niggas so stingy they got short arms and deep pockets,
This goes on in some companies
With majors, they’re scared to death to pump these.
First of all, who’s your A&R?
A mountain climber who plays an electric guitar?
But he don’t know the meaning of dope
When he’s lookin’ for a suit-and-tie rap
That’s cleaner than a bar of soap.
And I’m the dirtiest thing in sight,
Matter of fact, bring out the girls, and let’s have a mud fight!

You best protect ya neck!
You best protect ya neck!
You best protect ya neck!
You best protect ya neck!