"Assed Out" lyrics - WU-TANG CLAN

The RZA, the GZA, Ol' Dirty Bastard, Inspectah Deck
Raekwon, the Chef, U-God, Ghostface Killah, Masta Killa
And the Me, yeah, yeah, come on, now, now

What's happening? Who get it cracking like a neck snapping
For the rapping and who them fellas packing yelling Staten
From the background, I back down a few
Try to clown us in the past, where they at now?

I'm ill as baby powder with the smack down, for the record
My brain is like the project projected, for the Method
Go see my nigga Kush, he got the best shit for burning
This one go out for whom it may concerning

Spending they entire earning
Trynna get a higher learning, MC's is vermin
Like E be Sermon y'all too determined
Feeling ya self like Pee-Wee Herman

While we at it, let's tighten up our grips around that cabbage
Silly rabbits, how many kids will trick you out your carrots?
Little bastards and ghetto bitches, I break you like a bad habit
My dick is zoo and just too big for its britches

Uh, so fuck a mister and your misses
Cottonmouth niggas etched out like Merry Christmas
That all
Uh, huh, be home

Knock, knock, who is it? Tical, I pop digit
My block too hot to visit, round here, you gots to live it
MC's, you must admit it, I'm deadly on this mic life
Think back on this premise, anyone of y'all can get in

I breeze, backwards sleeves and THC
I bleed, kamikazes and forty OZ's
America's most, the better the smoke, the better the quotes
For cheddar, Meth'll sever the throat, whatever the coast

I'm home, let the sun shine on, get his grind on
And get some phone time, every time I'm in your time zone
Look here, it's crooked letter I, y'all don't meet nothing but crooks here
It's hot in hell's kitchen, get your cookware, for goodness

MC's is like that shit chicks be gushing
For pushing, got me token down to Central Booking
I stick out as if Tical just walked up in the party with my dick out
And I'm prepared to take the shit I dish out

On the, yo, on the expressway, suddenly, I unhit the brakes
A mistake, patrol figure just, ran the plates
I pull to the shoulder, a half mile ahead
The vibe got colder when the marksman said

Yo, you in the truck, get the fuck out your car
Put your hands where my eyes could see, not far
A fat slob, with pepper spray in the canister
Donut shop lounger, nine mil brandisher

Plus my half pound just rang the bell
Of the bloodhound, had an acute sense of smell
I guess he was tired of the strip and booking whores
Moving off a tip he's claimed he's looking for

Some MC's wanted for a string of break ins
Last seen wearing long minks and snake skins