Rough Cut Lyrics - The Genius Gza

Uh, huh, GZA, uh, RZA, uh 

Listen, if y'all can spit, we can spit, please get it together 

'Cuz anything you can do, I can do better 

Your imagine material looks, hotter behind looks 

Raise the fear, no one but self, who's shook? 

Bring the plague like the revelations in the holy book 

Who's spot you took? Duke off the hook 

I'm from the land of the crook, life quit the end 

Better known as the Brook, rather tape then lend 

There's a lot of wack records, but this ain't one of them 

DJ's off the books, go 'head put the gun at them 

All groupie M.C.'s, I'm bout to start stunnin' 'em 

Don't matter what crew, every last one of 'em 

It's gettin' crowded in here, some acts got to go 

Let's start by eliminatin' groups that can't flow 

I better meal my deal, my career with no fear 

That none of ya'll group can touch what's over here 

These rough cut metal tapes 

Quick to break your label mates, won't hesitate 

Negotiate your table stakes, you can't flow right 

Or fuck with me on no night 

Fuck the slow light, you need to get your show right 

Yo, Justice, how many M.C.'s must get pistol whipped? 

Crack faces with bottles of Crys', hollow tips gobble lips 

That's the penalty for poppin' that shit 

Vanish in a colorless whip, bags of grip 

Doo-rags and clips, tag the strip 

You had the chance to advance 

I'm sorry for the holes in your hip 

Son, it's the way of the street merchant 

Live by the laws, die by the rules 

My gleam play the part of a fool 

Now hear these jewels from a wise king 

See what my eyes seen 

Ten year supreme, the theme 

We sizzle-line and triple cream 

My grip'll off that digital bream, visual scene 

Roll footage on your video screen 

Globe patrol, Two On The Road, we never fold 

Snub react, GZA mack eliminate tracks 

Stimulate phat, Sunzini, nigga, gifted and black 

Now watch me mack to the kingdom of rap 

Give me a beat, nigga dealin' battles like a thief 

Done killed more niggas than Jason in part 3 

Stay Wu, on the graveyard and this label 

Dum dums that battle 12 o'clock, now it's able 

So what, looked up and made the bitches clap 

That was because my style's clothes, not the raps 

Ain't that shit, props for the clothing 

Should of brought a mirror, 'cuz lyric wasn't rollin' 

My rhymes is all that and yours ain't shit 

And at a party, your bitch takin' crazy flicks of me 

She said I was nigga celebrity 

But I'm from the slums, with the bums drinkin' Hennesey 

Take a sip of some Jamaican rum 

Put fire to my lung, tongue, teeth and gums 

When it comes out my mouth, shit's hot and it burns 

Make fools out of bitches like I'm Howard Stern 

These rough cut metal tapes 

Quick to break your label mates, won't hesitate 

Negotiate your table stakes, you can't flow right 

Or fuck with me on no night 

Fuck the slow light, you need to get your show right