The Whistle

(feat. Masta Killa, Prodigal Sunn)

[Intro: RZA] 
[whistling]
[beat kicks in]
Di-Di-Di-Di-Di-Digital 

[RZA] 
Yo, I beat the case, now I face the acquittal 
You nizzles try to belittle, but ya'll lest in spittle 
From a baby's lip, the digi made me flip 
Plus they paid me chips, just to spray the clip 
And empty out on you, in sync like the SMPTE output on the MPC 2002 
We be housin' crews, plus we housin' fools 
In abandoned apartments with a thousand tools 
Crazy shootin' dudes buck off the beat 
Brainless boutless fools who be stuck off the leaf 
Two guns in their hands yellin' "Fuck the police!" 
On the weekend get drunk and they fuck with the niece 
Of the precint chief, she got the tattoo 
On her breast that's shaped like The W 
Go 'head snatch the guns, son, I'll cover you 
And if they get past me we got another two, yeah... 

[Chorus: RZA & Prodigal Sunn] 
We smoke those blunts the size of bats 
We got those gats as long as ax 
We snatch that cheese right off the trap 
We put those Beez all on your map 

[Prodigal Sunn] 
I shoot the fair one, I dare ya'll run through New York City 
Or any city or place, my face, royal taste, pace myself 
Ace my health, great with wealth 
Undetected like the wings of a Stealth, I move for self 
Or any man, woman or child that I call fam 
That's the way I am, word to Glock, my sister Pam 
Son, lived through the terror of the World Trade blues 
Nine o'clock news, abused the mind of many fools 
Braves and jewels, made my moves, paid my dues 
From the School of Intelligence, I stayed benevolent 
Most high, magnify, multiply, as I add to the Kings of Kings 
We never die, built my name, sustained like blood 
Flow through the veins divine sign 
Dine with wine forever sunshine 

[Chorus] 

[RZA] 
We smoke... 

[Masta Killa] 
From the Vil to Brazil, live on your C-SPAN radio band 
Explicit, dice kiss it, pour a little liquor 
Golden imported from Cuba, Miss Aruba 
Sexy as Asia, met her up in Mecca 
Getting up in Just Cipher, hit it on the first date 
Plotted my escape, twelve hours shift at the gate 
How can you beat a G a week in '88? 
Trips to the Pocono Lodge, the fresh Izod 
Mama shouldn't work so hard to pay the landlord 
A grand in your birthday card, times is hard 
The gun hammer click, when the pigs blitz 
We scramble like Vick, automatic six plus one to the head 
Yo, the east so hot, it's red, but that's home 
And my Glock still burn your skin to the bone 
Sonny Corleone don't discuss it on the phone 

[Chorus to end]