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The Genius & GZA F/ Method Man, RZA Miscellaneous Living In The World Today Intro: RZA Yo [yeah] Check it out son, check it out son Yo, [Wu, can I get a soo] live in the place to be You got the capital G G to the A-M-C Givin a mad shout out to the Ranch Crew from the old school And we gonna take y'all back, knowhatI'msayin? Lyrical sorcerors right here, the fathers, the cream of the crop son [Yo check it] Chorus: The Genius Well if you livin in the world today You be hearin the slang that the Wu-Tang say Niggaz that front we don't handle em So we blast em, alright, well OK Well if you like the way it sound then clap man And if the women love it too well then raise your hands But only raise your hands if you're Sure [Meth] Punk niggaz shatter like a glass jaw, break it Verse One: The Genius My rhyme gross weight vehicle combination was too heavy for the Chevy's is chased out the station Double-edged was the guillotine that beheaded it gassed up, fuckin with some regular unleaded shit Heads roll on hillsides behind ropes that bind-in, X marks the spot on the scope Heavily armed military is necessary, it's a gamble MC's bet they best at every Powerful parable ditties might harm if tampered with, set off and strike like pipe bombs Flashbacks to the Duel of the Iron Mic Look out for these fatal flying spikes, of massive sleep-holds, put strangle on commercial angle Microphone cords tangled from being Star Spangled Now who could ever say they heard of this? My motherfuckin style is mad murderous Chorus: (in reverse verse) Interlude: Method Man, Genius Well what you know about MCin? Yo, I know a lot Well can you demonstrate somethin nigga? Huh, I'd rather not I'm talkin bout stacks cousin Nigga that's what I got Cash Rules the world Well Cash Rules the spot Verse Two: The Genius My preliminary attack keep cemetaries packed of niggaz who think it ain't like that MC's are gunned down like being run down with mad trucks Them God struck, religious niggaz call it bad luck Rap celeb, you got caught up in the web now bees are stingin, yo that niggaz em-singin I'm just swingin swords strictly based on keyboards Unbalanced like elephants and ants on see-saws I throw raps that attack like the Japs on Pearl Harbor MC's be out like bank robbers Fleeing the scene, to be a sole survivor DJ the getaway driver Tried to dip but he dive I socialize on vocal vibes On tracks stabbed up with razor sharp knives Criminal subliminal minded rappers find it Hard to define it, when narrow is the gate for fat tapes and then played out and out of date Then I construct my thoughts on site to renovate And from that point, the God made a statement Draftin tracements, replacements in basements materials in sheet-rock, to sound proof the beat box and microscopic optics received through the boxes obnoxious topic, major labels, flavor tropical Punchlines, that's unstoppable Ring like shots from glocks that attract cops around the clubs and try to shut down the hip-hop But we only increase if everything is peace Father U C King the police Chorus Chorus |
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