Protect Ya Neck

Album: Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers) (1992)
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  • So wassup, man?
    Coolin', man
    Chillin' chilin'? Yo, you know I had to call, you know why right?
    Because, yo, I never ever call and ask you to play somethin', right?
    You know what I wanna hear, right?
    What you wanna hear?
    I wanna hear that Wu-Tang joint
    Wu-Tang again?
    Ah, yeah, again and again

    Wu-Tang Clan comin' at ya
    Watch your step, kid
    Watch your step, kid (protect ya neck, kid)
    Watch your step, kid (so set it off)
    Watch your step, kid
    Watch your step, kid
    Watch your step, kid (The Inspectah Deck)

    I smoke on the mic like smokin' Joe Frazier
    The hell-raiser, raising hell with the flavor
    Terrorize the jam like troops in Pakistan
    Swinging through your town like your neighborhood Spider-Man
    So uh, tick-tock and keep ticking
    While I get you flipping off the shit I'm kicking
    The Lone Ranger, code red, danger
    Deep in the dark with the art to rip the charts apart
    The vandal, too hot to handle
    You battle, you're saying "Goodbye" like Tevin Campbell
    Roughneck, Inspectah Deck's on the set
    The rebel, I make more noise than heavy metal

    The way I make the crowd go wild
    Sit back, relax, won't smile
    Rae got it going on, pal, call me the rap assassinator
    Rhymes rugged and built like Schwarzenegger
    And I'ma get mad deep like a threat, blow up your project
    Then take all your assets
    'Cause I came to shake the frame in half
    With the thoughts that bomb shit like math
    So if you wanna try to flip, go flip on the next man
    'Cause I grab the clip, and
    Hit you with 16 shots and more, I got
    Going to war with the melting pot, hot

    It's the Method Man, for short, Mr. Meth
    Moving on your left, ah
    And set it off, get it off, let it off like a gat
    I wanna break, fool, cock me back
    Small change, they putting shame in the game
    I take aim and blow that nigga out the frame
    And like Fame, my style will live forever
    Niggas crossing over like they don't know no better
    But I do, true, can I get a "suu"
    'Nough respect due to the one-six-ooh
    I mean oh, yo, check out the flow
    Like the Hudson, or PCP when I'm dustin'
    Niggas off, because I'm hot like sauce
    The smoke from the lyrical blunt make me (uh)

    Ooh, what, grab my nut, get screwed
    Ow, here comes my Shaolin style
    True B-A-ba-B-Y-U
    To my crew with the "suu"

    Yeah, yeah, yeah (watch your step, kid)
    (Watch your step, kid, watch your step, kid)
    Come on, baby, baby, come on (protect ya neck)
    (Watch your step, kid, watch your step, kid)
    Come on, baby, baby, come on (watch your step, kid)
    (Watch your step, kid, watch your step, kid)
    Yo, you best protect ya neck

    First things first, man, you're fucking with the worst
    I'll be sticking pins in your head like a fucking nurse
    I'll attack any nigga who slack in his MAC
    Come fully packed with a fat rugged stack
    Shame on you when you stepped through to
    The Ol' Dirty Bastard straight from the Brooklyn Zoo
    And I'll be damned if I let any man
    Come to my center, you enter the winter
    Straight up and down, that shit packed jam
    You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him, man
    The Ol' Dirty Bastard is dirty and stinking
    Ason Unique rolling with the night of the creeps
    Niggas be rolling with a stash
    Ain't saying cash, bite my style, I'll bite your motherfucking ass

    For crying out loud, my style is wild, so book me
    Not long is how long that this rhyme took me
    Ejecting styles from my lethal weapon
    My pen that rocks from here to Oregon
    Here's more again, catch it like a psycho flashback
    I love gats, if rap was a gun, you wouldn't bust back
    I come with shit that's all types of shapes and sounds
    And where I lounge is my stomping grounds
    I give a order to my peeps across the water
    To go and snatch up props all around the border
    And get far like a shooting star
    'Cause who I are is livin' the life of Pablo Escobar
    Point blank as I kick the square biz
    There it is, you're fucking with pros and there it goes

    Yo, chill with the feedback, black, we don't need that
    It's 10 o'clock, ho, where the fuck's your seed at?
    Feeling mad hostile, wearing Aeropostale
    Flowing like Christ when I speaks the gospel
    Stroll with the holy roll, then attack the globe with the buckest style
    The ruckus, ten times ten men, committing mad sin
    Turn the other cheek and I'll break your fucking chin
    Slaying boom-bangs like African drums (he'll be)
    Coming around the mountain when I come
    Crazy flamboyant for the rap enjoyment
    My clan increase like black unemployment
    Yeah, another one down, G-G-Genius
    Take us the fuck outta here

    The Wu is too slammin' for these Cold Killin' labels
    Some ain't had hits since I seen Aunt Mabel
    Be doing artists in like Cain did Abel
    Now they money's getting stuck to the gum under the table
    That's what you get when you misuse what I invent
    Your empire falls and you lose every cent
    For trying to blow up a scrub
    Now that thought was just as bright as a 20-watt light bulb
    Should've pumped it when I rocked it
    Niggas so stingy, they got short arms and deep pockets
    This goes on in some companies
    With majors, they're scared to death to pump these
    First of all, who's your A&R?
    A mountain climber who plays an electric guitar?
    But he don't know the meaning of "dope"
    When he's looking for a "suit-and-tie rap"
    That's cleaner than a bar of soap
    And I'm the dirtiest thing in sight
    Matter of fact, bring out the girls and let's have a mud fight

    You best protect ya neck (watch your step, kid)
    You best protect ya neck (watch your step, kid)
    You best protect ya neck (watch your step, kid)
    You best protect ya neck (watch your step, kid) Writer/s: Clifford Smith, Corey Woods, Dennis David Coles, Gary E. Grice, Jason Hunter, Lamont Hawkins, Robert F. Diggs, Russell T. Jones
    Publisher: Downtown Music Publishing, Universal Music Publishing Group
    Lyrics licensed and provided by LyricFind


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