"New Year Banga" lyrics - WU-TANG CLAN

[Intro: Kevlaar 7]
Yo, Wisemen...
Bronze Nazareth... my nigga Phillie...
Yo... Salute the Kid...

[Kevlaar 7]
It's a struggle on these streets, I'm the son, ya'll the seeds
Innocent young M.C.'s, maturing into trees
Seems I touch with the brush, Kevlaar never spoke much
But one stroke of the Dutch, I smear pictures with breath tucks
Touching the phat techs, I never handle, gripped the three eighty
Shady, I got clocked on the mandible, bloodied my structure
Got bagged, drunk on the streets, so wasted, all the jakes did
Was deliver me home to my bed sheets, sleet and rain
Blow east against the grain, I walk the bloody hills barefoot in the rain
Stained 24 hours, two to finish this joint
Annoint with holy water, Think Differently with a daughter
And civilized planets, revolving around my son
Sleepless nights, with a brain, full of banging guns
A serenade of grenade, shave my pain with metal umbrellas
Story tellers and hustlers, funnel the strugglers restless
Fall to my knees, in the lab, asking the most high to help us

[Phillie]
It's been a long road, God knows, got me a strongehold
Palms so sweaty, legs feel like spaghetti
Yet now I think I'm ready, so long as the lord'll bless me
When I came from crumbs and sold drugs like ecstasy
Hung with killas, dodged bullets, to the next degree
Was wrong, like sex to me, to dead you in the streets
Over some shit you said to me, Think Differently, whatever
Just let it be, somebody fired my chef, I got the recipe
With this rap shit, I'm a wolf, ahead of sheep
Fresh meat, for the slaughter, I'm Nino to the Carter
Something you don't want a part of, with the heart of David
Against Goliath, you know this time, and stop playing
It's time for mic strangling, while life's are left dangling
In the violence, no lights, no cameras, just live action
Whether triggers are written, it's all real
Pencils are reinforced with steel, I got to live

[Bronze Nazareth]
Back in '94, I know math's calling your drawer
Flyers bust on it, ground work layed, dues paid
Dutch sauce waves calling, the streets is empty
Til my veins stay bubbling, that booth, my ice suit
I win your mic in a dice shoot, and any man who walk through hell
Will similary feel like I do
And vision my inscription, you see where I slept
Sat at the edge of an avalanche cliff, you see where I step
Think Differently in infamy, the most on slept
Equipped with gems, to blow the mind like turpan Thai wine
Keep the unstoppable odds in my stable, with the free cable box
To pay for studio locks, I rob big locks
Think not, of the Wise, my death color rhymes'll drain your colored eyes
Look what, I discover, rise
Without credit checks, bought that board, fucked our credit ever since
So it better work, instead of a beretta to work
Slitter my lurk, Gun Rule, Bermuda Tri-borough
Years later, on the furlow...