Lyrics:

Okay... the GZA
Tony Touch classic, knowhatI'msayin'?
We gonna bang y'all in the head one time
Blaze up on y'all one time, real fast (Do the mix and all that shit)
Knamsayin', word up (Make it—make it a record real quick, do yo' thang)
Throw ya seatbelts on, aight?
(Yeah, hook it up, make it a record, get down, yo)

I take y'all niggas straight Beneath The Surface
To the core – if it ain't raw, it's worthless
Pentel professional, polar ink
Wild river rafters fall off the raft and sink
Tony let a brother Touch, twenty bar rush
The way we push through, equivalent to rocket thrust
Allah Just, I lay it for the mixtapes
Quick to quake a label-mate
The sound came out a rusted crate, surrounded by cobwebs
Beat smooth enough to slide through like bobsleds
On a cold white snow, plus with the right flow
Wu-Tang niggas — they shine and make the mic glow!

We be killin', all guerilla in with all that screw-facin'
Pacin' back and forth, lookin' savage — stop!

Whether plugged in or plugged out, iron grill mugged or thugged out
Blood In Or Blood Out, son was bugged out
Might look at you and slice you
Buck-50 face, stupid, the shape of one Nike swoop
Who the fuck you think let y'all wild niggas in?!
Allowed you to put down your guns, and raise your pen?!
Ruler Zig-Zag-Zig, we don't fuck with no pig!
We teach the kids, you rather have a bullet or word to your wig?
Murder rates increases, bullet holes the size of 50 Cent pieces
Don't worry about the weed or pussy, I read books
I'm liable to 'mate ya king with three rooks
You see the Wu 'W'? Raise the Black fist!
Maybe Tony Touch's concord needle will scratch this
The ice cube link you bought, from the Jew for 80 G's
Was only appraised at 42
Gazed upon by the eyes of multitude
Of people, who would trade gold for food
I heard Boar's Head killed more than nuclear wars head
Or street sons who walk around dressed in all red
Bobby Digi said if you ever in Compton or Long Beach
Break my sons Doc Doom and Crisis with a nice piece

Penetrate on mixtape, with the registration
Illustrate constant elevation
Spark friction, Shawshank Golden Arm Redemption
Endorsed by the Masta inscription signature

Off-top, my unorthodox style of attack
Is like Hannibal rollin' on elephant's back
Pack a long barrel, bustin' off strong ammo
My light's so vast, I cast twenty-foot shadows
First family, fifth Capo, micro to macro
Load it in your head, play it back slow
Act like you know – this is no drill
Murderous rap fulfilled, goin' for kill
On these New York City sidewalks, we walk
Camouflaged, dodgin' the eyes of the hawk
Kani Sport, totin' the fifth, slidin' off
My live source movin' across with brute force
Bloodsport, many more heads face the blade
Fakers must fade, the stakes have now raised
Words of murder, suspense, and intrigue
Make major league niggas show signs of fatigue
My Killa Beez span wider than seven seas
Squeeze on MC's with bullet train speed
Tony's Touch create more gold than Midas
Your Highness — all in your head like your hair stylist

Frosty mug, big ring liters, top secret thug
Lampin' in Cheetahs, Orenthal with the murder glove
Boulder the town, devilish grin, look peculiar
Swung on this faggot, knocked the windows out of Sylvia's
Timb's got scuffed up, my ankles got sprained
That's my word – to every single seed, I smack flames
Staten Island's Masada, teachers of Elijah
Thrown out the temple, now collided with the Father
Nickname's Pudding
Clarence 13X before the Will Smith's and the limelights of Cuba Gooding
Lost in the cosmos, explodin' through a quasar
Be duckin' pulsars, organic state still be the gods

Tony Touch, Tony Touch!
Word up!
Big Face Ghost in effect (Yo...)