Artist: Wu-Tang Clan Album: Wu-Tang Forever Song: Triumph * * no more Triumph corrections are being accepted, this version is final [Ol Dirty Bastard] What y'all thought y'all wasn't gon' see me? I'm the Osirus of this shit Wu-Tang is here forever -- motherfuckers It's like this ninety-seven Aight my niggaz and my niggarettes Let's do it like this I'ma rub your ass in the moonshine Let's take it back to seventy-nine [Inspectah Deck] I bomb atomically, Socrates' philosophies and hy-po-theses can't define how I be droppin these mockeries, lyrically perform armed robbery Flee with the lottery, possibly they spotted me Battle-scarred shogun, explosion when my pen hits tremendous, ultra-violet shine blind forensics I inspect view through the future see millenium Killa Beez sold fifty gold sixty platinum Shackling the masses with drastic rap tactics Graphic displays melt the steel like blacksmiths Black Wu jackets Queen Beez ease the guns in Rumblein patrolmen tear gas laced the function Heads by the score take flight incite a war Chicks hit the floor, diehard fans demand more Behold the bold soldier, control the globe slowly Proceeds to blow swingin swords like Shinobi Stomp grounds I pound footprints in solid rock Wu got it locked, performin live on your hottest block [Method Man] As the world turns, I spread like germs Bless the globe with the pestilence, the hard-headed never learn It's my testament to those burned Play my position in the game of life, standing firm on foreign land, jump the gun out the frying pan, into the fire Transform into the Ghostrider, or Six Pack In A Streetcar Named Desire, who got my back? In the line of fire holding back, what? My peoples if you with me where the fuck you at? Niggaz is strapped, and they trying to twist my beer cap It's court adjourned, for the bad seed from bad sperm Herb got my wig fried like a bad perm, what the blood clot, we smoke pot, and blow spots You wanna think twice, I think not The Iron Lung ain't got ta tell you where it's coming from Guns of Navarone, tearing up your battle zone Rip through your slums [Cappadonna] I twist darts from the heart, tried and true Loot my voice on the LP, my team is on to slang rocks Certified chatterbox, vocabulary 'Donna talking Tell your story walking Take cover kid, what? Run for your brother, kid Run for your team, and your six camp rhyme groupies So I can squeeze with the advantage, and get wasted My deadly notes reigns supreme Your fort is basic compared to mine Domino effect, arts and crafts Paragraphs contain cyanide Take a free ride on my thought, I got the fashion catalogues for all y'all to all praise to the Gods [Ol Dirty Bastard] The saga continues Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang [U-God] Olympic torch flaming, we burn so sweet The thrill of victory, the agony, defeat We crush slow, flaming deluxe slow For, judgment day cometh, conquer, it's war Allow us to escape, hell glow spinning bomb Pocket full of shells out the sky, Golden Arms Tune spit the shit immortal combat sound The fake false step make, the blood stain the ground A jungle junkie, vigilante tantrum A death kiss, cap off squeeze another anthem Hold it for ransom, tranquilized with anesthetics My orchestra, graceful, music ballerinas My music Sicily, rich California smell An axekiller adventure, paint a picture well I sing a song from Sing-Sing, sippin on ginseng Righteous wax chaperone, rotating ring king [RZA] Watch for the wooden soldiers, C-cypher punks couldn't hold us A thousand men rushing in, not one nigga was sober Perpendicular to the square, we stand bold like Flare Escape from your Dragon's Lair, in particular My beats travel like a vortex, through your spine to the top of your cerebral cortex Make you feel like you bust a nut from raw sex Enter through your right ventricle clog up your bloodstream or terminal, like Grand Central Station Program fat baselines, on Novation Getting drunk like a fuck I'm duckin five-year probation [GZA] War of the masses, the outcome, disasterous Many of the victim family save they ashes A million names on walls engraved in plaques Those who went back, received penalties for their acts Another heart is torn, as close ones gone Those who stray, niggaz get slayed on the song [Masta Killa] The track renders helpless and suffers from multiple stab wounds and leaks sounds that's heard ninety-three million miles away from came one to represent the Nation, this is a gathering of the masses that come to pay respects to the Wu-Tang Clan As we engage in battle, the crowd now screams in rage The High Chief Jamel-Ah-Rief take the stage Light is provided through sparks of energy from the mind that travels in rhyme form Giving sight to the blind The dumb are mostly intrigued by the drum Death only one can save shell from This relentless attack of the track spares none [Ghostface Killah] Yo! Yo! Yo, fuck that, look at all these crab niggaz laid back Lampin like them gray and black Puma's on my man's rack Codeine was forced in your drink You had a Navy Green salamander fiend, bitches never heard you scream You two-faces, scum of the slum, I got your whole body numb Blowing like Shalamar in eighty-one Sound convincing, thousand dollar court by convention Hands like Sonny Liston, get fly permission hold tha fuck up, Allah fasten your wig, bad luck I humiliate, separate the English from the Dutch it's me, Black Noble Drew Ali came in threes we like the Genovese Is that so? Caesar needs the greens It's Earth, ninety-three million miles from the first Rough turbulence, the waveburst, split the megahertz [Raekwon] Aiyyo dat's amazing, gun in your mouth talk, verbal foul off Connect thoughts to make my man Shai walk Swift notarizer, Wu-Tang, all up in the high-riser New York gank adviser world tranquilizer Just the dosage, delegate my Clan with explosives While, my pen blow lines ferocious Mediterranean, see ya, the number one traffic sit down the beat God, then delegate the God to see God The swift chancellor, flex, the white-gold tarantula Track truck diesel, play the weed God, substantiala Max mostly, undivided, then slide it, it's sickening Guaranteed, mad em jump like Rod Strickland