Cover art for Rules by Wu-Tang Clan

Rules

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Dec. 18, 20011 viewer21.6K views

Rules Lyrics

[Verse 2: Inspectah Deck]
Yes, yes, y'all, the I-N-S bless y'all
Stop hearts like cholesterol, let's brawl
Never fall, tear it down like a wreckin' ball
Role call where my niggas that's one for all?
And all for one, we draw the guns on impulse
Cash in the envelope, spend it on kinfolk
Then smoke a ounce as we count mills
Providin' you pure ecstasy without pills

[Chorus: Method Man]
Y'all know the rules, we don't fuck with fools, man
How the fuck did we get so cool, man?

Never ever disrespect my crew
If you fuck with Wu, we gots to fuck with you

[Verse 3: Masta Killa]
Y'all dogs better guard ya grills, it's all real
We live from Baleelz, it's the god, I-Reelz
Yo wonderful, spark the blill; let me build
With the people for the mills; I'm rollin with the Rebel I-ill
From Killa Hill, peace to Brownsville
Brothers that'll kill for the will of the righteous
Twenty-five to lifers, true and living snipers
You wait like "Sixth Sense" till hard to kill
[Verse 4: Streetlife]
How you livin', Streetlife? I'm surrounded by criminals
Serial killers tote guns without the serial
High tech street intellect, all digital
Project original, sheisty individual
New York's bravest, always supply you with the latest
We hall of famers, and still hit you with the greatest
Took a year hiatus, now you wanna hate us
Thanks to all you haters for all the cream you made us

[Chorus: Method Man]
Y'all know the rules, we don't fuck with fools, man
How the fuck did we get so cool, man?

Never ever disrespect my crew
If you fuck with Wu, we gots to fuck with you, nigga

[Verse 5: Raekwon]
Hey yo, hey yo
Sendin' letters to trial, my cousin in Wendy's on Viacom
At home it's worth money; higher dons
Order drinks, all real niggas order your minks, yo
We got the fitteds on lookin' all faint, daddy
Everybody get money from now on; payday
Flash Visas, livin' like Easter e'ryday
Now it's, fuck Benz, rather a four-thirty
That shit that float through water
Eyeball come up, drop birdies, yo
[Verse 6: Method Man & Wu-Tang Clan]
We can eat right, or we can clap these toys
I'm with Streetlife, ain't never been a Backstreet Boy
Who y'all kiddin', tryna act like my shoe fittin'
Confused with ya head up your ass like, who's shittin'?
It's Hot Nixon, same team same position
Battin average three-five-seven and still hittin'
Y'all still bitchin', still lame and still chicken
I'm still here, one leg missin' and still kickin'
(Cause I'm haaard) Hard like a criminal
Love like a tennis shoe, throw slugs to finish you
It's the Method Man, for short Mr. Meth
I can tell this motherfucker ain't Wu, look at his neck
"Comin' from the 36th Chamber"
"Bring it to 'em proper, partner"
("Wu! Tang! Wu! Tang!")
It's Wu-Tang, rushin' your gang, crushin' the game
Pretty thugs clutchin' they chain, handcuffin' they dame
Who get strange, gassed up playin' with flame
Let a nigga take off his shades, see what I'm sayin' is…

[Chorus: Method Man]
Ya'll know the rules, we don't fuck with fools, man
How the fuck did we get so cool, man?

Never ever disrespect my crew
If you fuck with Wu, we gots to fuck with you, nigga

[Outro: Streetlife & Wu-Tang Clan]
I wish a nigga will
"Wu! Tang! Wu! Tang!"
"Wu! Tang! Wu! Tang"

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