clan in da front
Up from the 36 Chambers
Heheh, it's the Ghost Face Killah
Heheheh, Wu-Tang!
Wu-Tang Killa Beez, we on a swarm
Wu-Tang Killa Beez, we on a swarm
Wu-Tang Killa Beez, we on a swarm
Wu-Tang Killa Beez, we on a swarm
The RZA, the GZA, Ol' Dirty Bastard, Inspectah Deck, U-God
Ghostface Killah, the Method Man, Raekwon the Chef, the Masta Killa, Raw Desire, LeVon, Power Cipher
12 O'Clock, 60 Second Assassin
The 4th Disciple, the Brown Hornet
K.D. the Down Low Recka
Shyheim a.k.a. The Rugged Child
Du-Du-Lilz, Mr. Hezekiah
Better known as the Yin and the Yang, the True Master
Isham, DJ Skane, the True Robocop comin' through
Scientific Shabazz, my motherfuckin' man Wise the Civilized
The Shaolin Soldiers, Daddy-O and Popa Ron
Comin' down from the motherfuckin' South end of things
Killa Beez all over your fuckin' planet
Thirty-six chambers of death
Three-hundred and sixty degrees of perfected styles
Choppin' off your motherfuckin' dome
-piece, and every fuckin' borough
Brooklyn, Manhattan, and Queens, Staten Island
The motherfuckin' Bronx, Killa Beez
The sword? C'mon, give him the sword!
Clan in da front, let your feet stomp
Niggas on the left, rag shit to death (Wu, wu, wu, wu)
Hoods on the right, wild for the night (Wu, wu, wu, wu)
Punks in the back, come on in the track to what? (Wu, wu, wu, wu)
The Wu is comin' through, the outcome is critical
Fuckin' with my style is sort of like a miracle
On 34th Street, in the Square of Herald
I gamed Ella, the bitch caught a Fitz like Gerald-
-ine Ferraro, who's full of sorrow
'Cause the ho didn't win, but the sun will still come out tomorrow
And shine shine shine like gold mine
Here comes the drunk monk, with a quart of Ballantine
Pass the bone, kid, pass the bone!
Let's get on this mission like Indiana Jones
The GZA, one who just represent the Wu-Tang clique
With the game and soul of an old school flick
Like the Mack and Dolemite, who both did bids
Claudine went to Cooley High and had mad kids
So stop, the life you save may be your motherfuckin' own
I'll hang your ass with this microphone
Make way for the merge of traffic
Wu-Tang's comin' through with full metal jackets
God squad that's mad hard to serve
Come frontin' hard, then Bernhard Goetz what he deserves
Clan in da front, let your feet stomp
Niggas on the left, rag shit to death (Wu, wu, wu, wu)
Hoods on the right, wild for the night (Wu, wu, wu, wu)
Punks in the back, come on in the track to what (Wu, wu, wu, wu)
No response while I bomb that ass
You ain't shit, your wack-ass town had you gassed
Egos is somethin' the Wu-Tang crush
Souped-up niggas on a stage get rushed
I don't give a goddamn on the shows you did
How many rhymes you got or who knows you, kid
'Cause I don't know you, therefore show me what you know
I come sharp as a blade and I cut you slow
You become so Pat as my style increases
What's that in your pants? Ahh, human feces!
Throw your shitty drawers in the hamper
Next time, come strapped with a fuckin' Pamper
How you sound, B? You're better off a quitter
I'm on the mound, G, and it's a no-hitter
And my DJ, the catcher, he's my man
In a way he's the one who devised the plan
He throws the signs, I hook up the beats with clout
I throw the rhymes to the mic and I strike 'em out
So it really doesn't matter on how you intrigue
You can't fuck with those in the major leagues
Clan in da front, let your feet stomp
Niggas on the left, rag shit to death
Hoods on the right, wild for the night
Punks in the back, come on in the track to what
Clan in da front, let your feet stomp
Niggas on the left, rag shit to death
Hoods on the right, wild for the night
Punks in the back, come on in the track to what
Hoods on the right
Punks in the back… to what
Niggas on the left
Hoods on the right
Punks in the back, c'mon… to what
Let your feet stomp
Rag shit to death
Wild for the night
(Wu, Wu, Wu, Wu, Wu, Wu)
(Wu, Wu, Wu, Wu, Wu, Wu, Wu, Wu)
(Wu, Wu, Wu, Wu, Wu, Wu, Wu, Wu)
Niggas on the left, brag shit to death
Hoods on the right, wild for the night
Punks in the back, come on in the track
Clan in da front, let your feet stomp