Assed Out - 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’ll back down a few

Try to clown us in the past, where they at now?

I’m ill as baby powder with the smackdown, 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

Ya’ll too determined, feeling yaself like Pee-Wee Herman

While we at it, let’s tighten up our grips around that cabbage

Silly rabbits, how many kids’ll trick you out your carrots

Ghetto bastards and ghetto bitches, I break you like a bad habit

My dick is two inches too big for it’s britches

Uh, so fuck a mister and your misses

Cottonmouth niggas X’ed out like Merry Christmas, that all

Uh-huh, be home *Bell rings*

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 like

Anthrax on this premise, anyone of ya’ll can get in

I breathe, Backwoods 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, everytime I’m in your timezone

Look here, it’s crooked letter I, ya’ll 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 tooken 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

«When you realize that what you got ain’t what you want»

On the, yo, on the expressway, suddenly, I, um, hit the breaks

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 pepperspray 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 snakeskins