Released: January 1, 2004
Featuring: Raekwon
Producer: CHOPS
[Verse One: Chops]
Sooner or later some shit like this was bound to happen
Witness the sound of a classic
Like Enter The Dragon, found yourself drown in acid
Each and every time my sounds is blasting
Breaking beat makers down to fractions
You play around with matches
Surrounded with gas from folks you hang around
But that's just smoke up your clown asses
Funny how cats just, throw they weight around bragging
Talking a mound of trash but found trapped in my basement
Bound and gagged and now who's laughing?
Get down ya bastards
Cow Tao bow to the master
Powerful tracks and rapping; how 'bout that shit?
Y'all 'bout to eat the gun neat like a pound of chapstick
Track wizard, powerful magic
Cast a spell, you cats out looking sorry like Ms. Jackson
My efforts is deffer than a closed caption backspin
The rhythm make equivalent of Chow Yun-Fat with two gats blasting
[Hook: Raekwon (Chops)] {x2}
Everyone knowing that butcher's on the beat, yo
(You know who it is)
"Ya nahmean?"
"Chops, the butcher baby, magnificent" - Mountain Brothers 'Birds Of Paradise"
"Chops burn the house down" - Mountain Brothers 'Opin Wide'
[Verse Two: Chops]
My beats rhymes and bars is all I have left
Without or with a group, grandmaster of badness
House of Ill Repute, Landcaster Ave, the address
Grab the mic and wear it out like a hoe's mattress
I spit just the facts like Dragnet
Attract fans like a magnet
Use your head for something else beside a hat rest
You know them faces the crowd is making
From the nasty rhymes you thought you was kicking; that was bad breath
Mad heads wanna bring drama than cable access
Just some local cats that's dummies
Getting ready to feel hurt like a crash test
Be sweating more than a porno actress that's...taking a math test
You ain't paid no dues, got some bad debts, writing bad checks
To video tricks to flash flesh
To cover the fact that you express wackness
Just a bunch of Shallow Hal's can't see my phatness like...
[Hook]
[Verse Three: Chops]
Dedicated to heads I looked out for and ain't did shit for me
It's all good cause I got a master plan like Mister Cee
'Bout to savor the taste of victory
While y'all separated like six degrees
It ain't sweet like Crispy Creme
Meanwhile the whole industry fienda be hit by me
Anticipate the buzz like when you twist the tree
Cause this will be be
The moment where the rubber hits the street
Because my shit's complete
Chops be spitting heat over top of the sickest beats
Heads bobbing instinctively
And every city know my mix is mean
Bass and snares, hats, kicks crisp and clean
Still you ask the kid will I spit sixteen?
It's a mystery
See I might get all in your mouth like Listerine
Make the house rip at the seams
Whole crowd shit they jeans
Right before I be out and split the scene
Or I might chill and not say shit like Mr. Bean
[Hook]
Sooner or later some shit like this was bound to happen
Witness the sound of a classic
Like Enter The Dragon, found yourself drown in acid
Each and every time my sounds is blasting
Breaking beat makers down to fractions
You play around with matches
Surrounded with gas from folks you hang around
But that's just smoke up your clown asses
Funny how cats just, throw they weight around bragging
Talking a mound of trash but found trapped in my basement
Bound and gagged and now who's laughing?
Get down ya bastards
Cow Tao bow to the master
Powerful tracks and rapping; how 'bout that shit?
Y'all 'bout to eat the gun neat like a pound of chapstick
Track wizard, powerful magic
Cast a spell, you cats out looking sorry like Ms. Jackson
My efforts is deffer than a closed caption backspin
The rhythm make equivalent of Chow Yun-Fat with two gats blasting
[Hook: Raekwon (Chops)] {x2}
Everyone knowing that butcher's on the beat, yo
(You know who it is)
"Ya nahmean?"
"Chops, the butcher baby, magnificent" - Mountain Brothers 'Birds Of Paradise"
"Chops burn the house down" - Mountain Brothers 'Opin Wide'
[Verse Two: Chops]
My beats rhymes and bars is all I have left
Without or with a group, grandmaster of badness
House of Ill Repute, Landcaster Ave, the address
Grab the mic and wear it out like a hoe's mattress
I spit just the facts like Dragnet
Attract fans like a magnet
Use your head for something else beside a hat rest
You know them faces the crowd is making
From the nasty rhymes you thought you was kicking; that was bad breath
Mad heads wanna bring drama than cable access
Just some local cats that's dummies
Getting ready to feel hurt like a crash test
Be sweating more than a porno actress that's...taking a math test
You ain't paid no dues, got some bad debts, writing bad checks
To video tricks to flash flesh
To cover the fact that you express wackness
Just a bunch of Shallow Hal's can't see my phatness like...
[Hook]
[Verse Three: Chops]
Dedicated to heads I looked out for and ain't did shit for me
It's all good cause I got a master plan like Mister Cee
'Bout to savor the taste of victory
While y'all separated like six degrees
It ain't sweet like Crispy Creme
Meanwhile the whole industry fienda be hit by me
Anticipate the buzz like when you twist the tree
Cause this will be be
The moment where the rubber hits the street
Because my shit's complete
Chops be spitting heat over top of the sickest beats
Heads bobbing instinctively
And every city know my mix is mean
Bass and snares, hats, kicks crisp and clean
Still you ask the kid will I spit sixteen?
It's a mystery
See I might get all in your mouth like Listerine
Make the house rip at the seams
Whole crowd shit they jeans
Right before I be out and split the scene
Or I might chill and not say shit like Mr. Bean
[Hook]