Illusory Protection - GZA, DJ Muggs, DJ Muggs, GZA

When I request my flashing sword…

And my hand take hold on judgment…

I will take vengeance upon my enemies…

And I will repay those that hazed me…

When you got bass all in your face

Sub woofers pumpin' all throughout the place

A fake rap nigga tryna plead his case

It’s about to be, a catastrophe

And if you got beehive’s, right before your eyes

About to start shit that’ll attract the flies

And then you hear lies, followed by some cries

It’s about to be, a catastrophe

Half of these rap lyrics ain’t thoughts prevoked

Just alotta beef, til they get caught in smoke

But the problem is never cured, on top of that

Most of them be swingin' wild and then drop the bat

Many curious spectators, watch the human drama

This rap cat was all in the street without his armor

A homicidal attempt, that had failed

He flew off the roof, on the fence, got impaled

He talked a good one, but it was make believe

Much too low, for the human ear to perceive

He confused science fiction with science facts

He couldn’t separate the block, from the recorded tracks

Need a rhyme or the tactic, gotta work your magic

Detailed and graphic, but the outcome is tragic

Something built to a complex network

With a panoramic vision, designed by experts

I be the ice breaker, for you unskilled skaters

I increase the heat significantly, just on paper

When you got bass all in your face

Sub woofers pumpin' all throughout the place

A fake rap nigga tryna plead his case

It’s about to be, a catastrophe

And if you got beehive’s, right before your eyes

About to start shit that’ll attract the flies

And then you hear lies, followed by some cries

It’s about to be, a catastrophe

No matter what, I’m throwin' an iller dart

I can lay a verse, that’ll soften a killer’s heart

As fire as a five alarm blaze, that’s too hot to be holding

You feel the heat, once the flame pumps lace your clothing

What some talk about, had little or no bearing

Could the next be some real shit, that’s far from comparing

Materialistic M.C.'s, come off boring

Meanwhile, I be sketching up, deposit drawings

Through the years, a countless, number of victories

Changing the era, we swarm unpredictably

A rhyme book is not, difficult to manage

I leave a mic in a bandage, from catastrophic damage

Rap niggas on a trip, gotta steal your sandwich

So I creeped, division reports was left on canvas

I made it through the worst extremes of cold weather

Scuffed up, but remained durable as old leather

But I hold the pen, you feel the whiff of Polo wind

Something like Jesus, when he civilize older men

The math that shed light, all across the borders

If our wisdom was the vast expands of fresh waters

When you got bass all in your face

Sub woofers pumpin' all throughout the place

A fake rap nigga tryna plead his case

It’s about to be, a catastrophe

And if you got beehive’s, right before your eyes

About to start shit that’ll attract the flies

And then you hear lies, followed by some cries

It’s about to be, a catastrophe

We call it a sword style, because, we are lyrical assassins

And we aware that the tongue is symbolic to the sword

The lyrical assassins… the lyrical assassins… a sword style…

(The procedure is, check with the knight

Move the knight away to deliver a discovered check from the queen

Then, sacrifice the queen to force the rook next to the king

Then mate with the knight)