Living In The World Today Lyrics - Liquid Swords - Gza

Yo (yeah), check it out, son, check it out, son 

Yo (Wu, can I get a soo?), live in the place to be 

You got the capital G, Z to the A, MC 

Givin' a mad shout out to the Ranch Crew, from the old school 

And we gonna take y'all back, know what I'm sayin'? 

Lyrical sorcerors right here, the fathers, the cream of the crop, son 

(Yo, check it) 

Well, if you livin' in the world today 

You be hearin' the slang that the Wu-Tang say 

Niggas that front, we don't have 'em 

So we blast 'em, alright, well, ok 

Well, if you like the way it sounds, then clap, man 

And if the women love it too, well, then raise your hands 

But only raise your hands if you're sure 

Punk niggas shatter like a glass jaw, break it 

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My rhyme gross weight vehicle combination 

Was too heavy for the Chevy's, is chased out the station 

Double-edged was the guillotine that beheaded it 

Gassed up, fuckin' with some regular unleaded shit 

Heads roll on hillsides behind ropes that 

Bind-in, X marks the spot on the scope 

Heavily armed, military is necessary, it's a gamble 

MCs bet they best at every 

Powerful parable ditties might harm 

If tampered with, set off and strike like pipe bombs 

Flashbacks to the "Duel of the Iron Mic" 

Look out for these fatal flying spikes, of massive 

Sleep-holds, put strangle on commercial angle 

Microphone cords tangled from being Star Spangled 

Now, who could ever say they heard of this? 

My motherfuckin' style is mad murderous 

Photos 

Well, what you know about MCin'? 

Yo, I know a lot 

Well, can you demonstrate somethin', nigga? 

Huh, I'd rather not 

I'm talkin 'bout stacks, cousin 

Nigga, that's what I got 

Cash Rules the world 

Well, Cash Rules the spot 

My preliminary attack keep cemeteries packed 

Of niggas who think it ain't like that 

MCs are gunned down like being run down with mad trucks 

Then, God struck, religious niggas call it "bad luck" 

Rap celeb, you got caught up in the web 

Now, bees are stingin', yo, that niggas em-singin' 

I'm just swingin' swords strictly based on keyboards 

Unbalanced like elephants and ants on see-saws 

I throw raps that attack like the Japs on Pearl Harbor 

MCs be out like bank robbers 

Fleeing the scene, to be a sole survivor 

DJ, the getaway driver 

Tried to dip, but he dive, I socialize on vocal vibes 

On tracks stabbed up with razor-sharp knives 

Criminal subliminal minded rappers find it 

Hard to define it, when narrow is the gate 

For fat tapes and, then, played out and out of date 

Then I construct my thoughts on site to renovate 

And from that point, the God made a statement 

Draftin' tracements, replacements in basements 

Materials in sheet-rock, to sound proof the beatbox 

And microscopic optics received through the boxes 

Obnoxious topic, major labels, flavor tropical 

Punchlines, that's unstoppable 

Ring like shots from Glocks that attract cops 

Around the clubs and try to shut down the hip-hop 

But we only increase if everything is peace 

Father You See King the police