Inspectah Deck, U-God and Street Life - The Grand Prix

Ladies and gentlemen welcome to the lyrical grand prix
We have our drivers racin' for a three million dollar purse
Winner takes all gentlemen start your engines

Give me room hit the tune
Feature presentation comin' soon early June
Killa Bee platoon well groomed
Spells doom raise the volume
You react like a werewolf in a full moon
With the force of a trojan horse
Pushin' forward, have your seat belt fastened
We blastin' into orbit, Wu restore the new chamber
Wu-banger number 9, expert precision and design
Mastermind the plan took a matter of time
From the confines of the cold world I shine
It's amazin', the grace, change in the place
Blazin' the brakes, invadin' the space
Switchin' lanes in the race, claimin' first place
Raisin the stakes, it's a game to the fakes
I own many jewels, drop more than I wear
I come in peace, prepare for the warfare
The invincible fold, when they're caught in the square
And the talk mad shit when the coast is clear

Yes, ladies and gentlemen
We've just completed the first lap

Blood kin, knowledge, knowledge, I build with rap scholars
Guns and wallets, prowess, Staten Island stylist
12 man roster, live long, prosper
Street philosopher, you end up like Jimmy Hoffa
Ain't a damn thing changed but the aim, bullet range
Strange universe, I was nursed to blow your mainframe
Think first, convert, all verse live in concert
Pull a skirt, burst, while y'all niggas star search
Mind your's, why you eyein' mines for
Posin' like a Matten dog, I must got somethin' you want to die for
Touch mine, reach him up, his headline, both grant
9 inch rusty splint push through your nose vent
Got my eyes on the grand prize, place your bet
Watch me win it by a landslide, pull off an upset
Hold the burner close by my hands and my pocket
Hold the trophy high and keep my eyes on the prophet

And a new driver has entered the contest
Ladies and gentlemen, driver number 99
In the red car

Fog lights beam, car 99 supreme
A high-powered machine spits sparks of baroline
The smell of gasoline, motor roar, the crowd roars
The rag tuck rip, box cut caught in my jaws
Enforcin' my laws, rap mirage in your garage
The grease lightnin', dusty rose, shake him, bon voyage
Now duel of the iron, flyin' fued for you writers
The speed demon, rebel talk, triggers, freedom fighters
Was tracked in the cock pit, I'm writin' exact
I'm crushin' corners, who that kid ridin' the track
With the Wu helmet, 6th nigga, 5 cars back
The last but not least, I blitz through the scrimmage
No brakes, I dart, I'm racin' for the finish
Understand my hunger for my land down under
It's the thunderous rush, after the sounds get crush
The purse snatchin' pound, by all means snatch cream
Tear your ass out of town

As we near the final lap
Team Wu-Tang seems to be buildin'
A sizable lead on the competition

Yo, I know how to fold 'em like Kenny Rogers
Popular demand, overstand these piranhas
Movin' on the track like a Monaco GT
I stand out similar to 3D on your TV
Easily breezin' watchin' the speed dial climb
Style of rhyme, left the foes miles behind
Leavin' skid marks on the charts
Aimed at the hearts of the fake, sparks on the tapes
It's starts from the gate, darts penetrate
Freestyle as the decoy the sharks took the bait
Holdin' major weight, my Supreme Team dominates
Circulatin', takin' all bets you place
In and out of state, twirlin' L's on the freeway
NY to SC, NC to VA, GA to MD, CA to KY
Fl to IL, TX to MI

As we near the checkered flake, ladies and gentlemen
Team Wu-Tang's holdin' down the 1st, 2nd and 3rd positions
And it looks like it's goin' to be another sure win for Team Wu-Tang
As they take home another pot of gold with this three million dollar purse
Rebel INS, you-God, Street Life

Get the loot, get the loot
Cash money y'all, cash money y'all, cash money y'all

Written by:
Charles Patrick, Jason Hunter, Lamont Hawkins, Selwyn Bougard

Publisher:
Lyrics © Raleigh Music Publishing LLC

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