Lyrics:

A classic song with the chorus “Hey-Ya-Ho” released by Wu-Tang Clan affiliate and Park Hill, Staten Island, NY native King Just in 1995.
Can I get the phat intro?
This is how you was gon start it off?
Yeah, knowhatimsayin?
This is the God, the Drunken Monk, King Just
Coming through for the Shaolin crew
Black Fist, yo hit 'em with a uppercut

Heya heya heya, huh
Heya heya heya, huh
Heya heya heya, huh
Heya heya heya, huh

Heya heya, can I get some?
The sounds of the Warrior's Drum
On the warpath, don't make me laugh
'Cause you never in your life wanna ever see the God's wrath
I'ma chief that smoke weed out of peace pipes
Yo, bro, I'm half Indian, so you're right
I'ma about to show you wit my mic sword
Yo Shaolin sling, come on raise the sword
Charge, they all crowd from the Black Fist
I got fronts in my mouth, that say battle at your own risk
Emcees fall and they can't get up
I do the rap, why, yes that's a cut
Huh, right back at you, niggas better run
Or feel the force of the Hellraiser's gun
Gupao, gupao, my style is wild chopped in the Shao'
Zoo, aow, aow, I can flip it acapello
I'll make you jelly like Jell-O, figaro, figaro
Who would think that the Just would go opera
You could ask Hammer, he know my shit is popper
Stopper, Stopper, like Cuddy Ranks
I'm taking money to bank and my moms I like I'd like to thank
Shaolin, Black Fist, they do the time
And Just came back with that old funky rhyme
Bring it

Heya heya heya, huh
Heya heya heya, huh
Heya heya heya, huh
Heya heya heya, huh

And there's a thousand emcees lined up against the wall
Timber! They're all gonna fall
Hassan Chop, yo I can't stop
Giving you that off the wall hip-hop
To your ear, make you wanna cheer
Hallelujah, ch-ch grrrr, now I'm in second gear
Yo, I'm out of here, to get the mo' tical
From the Meth-Tical, hit the buddh-tical
Know I'm headed to the hotel but I'll be poking and stroking
Yo the hair, got Tical, got a nigga open
Hey daddy, who them those over there?
Shaolin Soldiers, huh, wait a minute, no one told ya
That I'm the nigga, that they call Stompy
Who got the looks of a killer dead zombie
I take 'em off, sure fast canning your tour
They couldn't catch my style if I was a baseball
Bases loaded and I got my back gun
Blaow! Boom! Bang! Oh shit a home run
*Crowd cheering noise* Yo, the crowd goes crazy
Bring it if you want 'cause you really don't amaze me

Heya heya heya, huh
Heya heya heya, huh
Heya heya heya, huh
Heya heya heya, huh

Look who's back, it's the Hellraiser raising Hell
And I've been rockin' rhymes, since niggas been rockin' gazelles
My slang can bang, so I guess I be the man
You couldn't hang with my style, if you invented the Ku Klux Klan
I'm like AT&T, I'ma reach ya through ya speaker
I got more sole than a sneaker
Asylum, I'm crazy, I guess I'm wildin'
My stylin' is the record straight from the Shaolin
By the kiss of the Black Fist
Shit is sick, here to make you wanna drown a fish
Under water, I'ma slaughter, like a change machine with no quarter
Out of order, run for the border
The hardcore rap act is back
I stick out like a thumbtack, I wipe niggas off the map
And I rhyme to get paid, 'cause when I raid
I wouldn't wanna hear your style with an hearing aid
Straight up crook, meaner than Captain Hook
Look out, look out, stomp like Bigfoot
And I don't give a fuck about a girl
My crew is more crazy than Bebe Kids in fuckin Fun World
I'm causing niggas doom, I mean sonic boom
I'm fuckin stupid, I write rhymes in the boiler room
Like Krueger, funky dope maneuver
The Drunken Monk is so funky they call me manure
Horse shit, I flip shit, oh my God, I rip shit
I talk shit, no one can shit, like I shit
Shit like this, get you upset
Because the shit that I was signing, was pumping through your projects
How much types must I say shit?
Well, if the shit ain't worth the shit
Then I don't wanna be with the shit
And then you be like, 'Oh shit, he flipped it'
Now ain't that some shit, kid?

Heya heya heya, huh
Heya heya heya, huh
Heya heya heya, huh
Heya heya heya, huh

Herb like this, mound up and roll it out