All language subtitles for Wu-Tang.Clan.and.Nas.NY.State.of.Mind.Tour.at.Climate.Pledge.Arena.2024.1080p.AMZN.WEB-DL.DDP2.0.H264-_track3_[eng]

Welcome to the New York
State of Mind tour everybody.

I go by the name of DJ
Maceo from De La Soul.

Can everybody please stand
up, put your hands up for 50

years of hip hop music.

Everybody, everybody.

Everybody, hands up.

Hands up.

Let's get it.

Wave, come on, wave, come
on, wave, come on, wave,

come on, wave, come on, wave.

Come on, y'all.

You want the real.

Talk with us.

Talking to certified.

Talk to us.

Once we're all mass killed.

Talk to us.

Origina rock and roll.

Talk with us.

The ones who know how to play.

Talk with us.

There ain't nothing else to say.

Talk with us.

When it's us, you know it's us.

We were never the meant to be.

Trapped in a lane around
all your memories.

Swerve through,
watch your interview.

Stuck to your past
the whole week.

Thank you.

We're the future
want to make you.

We stay at this.

Run through drills and practice,
strategies, suicide, sketches,

showing positions to get past.

Opposition back for the game.

Y'all know the name.

Three decades deep.

Evaluate the rap
sheet, earn some scars.

How to earn some stars but
never act star studded.

When the pretty eyes
recognize who we are,

we follow procedure
and acts got credit.

I play the mountain at night.

Normally found as a
quote of the week.

Week.

Yeah, I don't give
you the weak shit.

Speech ain't one part of the
art that's ghost written.

When it gets to
that point, be the

first to stand up in
the joint that you

know that I'm quitting.

Until then I say day to
day for the way the wind.

Always the gym.

I got lyrics stuff,
niggas born in the bluff.

Citizen's arrest, throw
your ass in the cuff.

Don't play quiet now.

I hit you with the trying now.

You make a run for it.

If you dare, you get tackled.

Shit in a shackle.

Scrape through the
foot on your back.

The one, the book input.

Jack.

What's up, y'all?

How you feeling?

How you feel?

Are you listening?

Seattle, are you listening?

If you stan it, let's
rock together y'all.

Come on, y'all.

Yo.

I don't cuff mics,
I love my stuff

rugged if the girls love it.

To the North Bravo,
came in my mic check.

Telling me I left lacerations--

Around my neck.

Domestically the
student and you just might

get undisputed with this shit.

When we say vibe, we want
y'all to say vibrations.

Come on.

Stakes is high, y'all.

You know those stakes is high.

When we say vibe, we want
y'all to say vibration.

Stakes is high, y'all.

Come on, them stakes is high.

When we say vibe, we want
y'all to say vibration.

Louder.

Stakes is high, y'all.

You know those stakes is high.

The instamatic focal point
bringing damage to your bubble.

We some brothers from
the East with the beast

that be thorough.

Brushed Soular gravitation
and we're bound to pull it.

Yo, we get down like
brothers and fam.

Drop them some bullets.

Gun control means using
both hands in my land.

It's all about cautious
living in my grave too.

How you form a consequence?

Compliments.

Of strugglin.

Should it be notable
to live quietly.

Got some hip quotables.

Second half dance awards show.

Sick of name brand clothes.

Sick of all of these
bitches over bullshit.

Cocaine and crack, bringing
sickness to Blacks.

Slow hand weapons when they sick
and then rap, clapping to gas,

making the whole
sick world collapse.

Facts.

Even sycophants take a push
to make a bundle to escape.

You see, life can't
get all up in your ass.

Baby, you better work it out.

Let me tell you
what it's all about.

Skin not considered equal.

Emilio has more
right than my people.

And all my people here
tonight, help us out y'all.

Come on, come on.

When we say vibe, we want
y'all to say vibration.

Stakes is high.

Listen, why don't you
all give it a try?

When we say vibe,
we will y'all to say--

Vibration.

I need to hear
you, motherfuckers.

Come on, come on.

When we say vibe--

Come on.

We want y'all to say--

Vibrations.

Stakes is high, y'all.

You know them stakes is high.

It's about loving them cars.

Loving the fun.

Loving to love men.

Learning to love fun.

Love for opposites, love
for fame and wealth.

Love for the facts, no
longer loving yourself.

We live in a maze
of the man made way.

See, every aspect is vivid.

These brothers no
longer talk shit.

These brothers living.

I'm about to give it to
you 24/7 on the microphone.

Plug one, translate in the zone.

And no offense to a
player, but we don't play.

If you take offense, fuck it.

You gotta be that way.

I'm going to point my hand
over here this way like--

Recipes plug to true goy.

Make some noise for the
legendary De La Soul.

Make some noise for my brother
the legendary Talib Kweli.

Come on, y'all.

I'm from Brooklyn, New York.

You are now at the New
York State of Mind tour.

If you love hip hop music,
make some fucking noise.

Come on, come on.

Everybody.

Get em up, get em up.

Everybody, get em up, get em up.

Come on.

Everybody, get em up, get em up.

What's with the melodrama?

Fellas want to hover in my
center like a helicopter.

Like it's a special honor.

Sell bomb jams rapper
make the ghetto holla.

Taking you highly, skydiving.

We spark original caveman
crunch for my fire.

Come on.

My desire to
try this new shit.

Record executives keep
telling me, y'all stupid.

Are they right?

Shut the fuck up.

Revolutionary,
throw your guns up.

Whether you were
bougie, broad, pack the

stuck up on some
ignorant to muthafuckers.

You ain't the clever.

We go.

Y'all feel this,
break your spirit,

y'all fake that realness.

Bring it in, bringing it in.

Come in new millennium,
the way after that.

I call these calves rebels
cause they plastic wrap.

Kill all the yapping,
let's make it happen.

- Yeah.
- Cats ain't real.

Y'all just a reenactment.

Better yet, dramatization.

Soon as the director say
action, you start faking.

Oh, I start to break.

Yeah.

The whole joint
starts shaking.

Come on.

Cause every time I play
for you, it proves to them.

Seattle, where you at?

Move something.

Seattle, make some noise.

Everybody take your hands.

Both hands.

Shake it out like this.

Shake out all the demons.

Shake out all the negative
energy and the hate.

Let's go.

We sell.

And out the back of a home,
another mosque of the dusk

in the crack of the door.

Go through episode two
like Attack of the Clones.

Shall we break our backs?

Can you hear the crack of the
boat to get by, just to get by.

Just to get by, just
to get by y'all.

Computer spirits ain't mute
while your ego spread rumors.

We survive a last
turn to consumers.

Just to get by, just to get by,
just to get by, just to get by.

People got to live in a
trailer cause like I said,

I'll paint a picture with
the pen like Norman Mailer.

Mia Bella raised three
daughters all by herself.

Yeah.

I think about her struggle
and I find a strength in myself.

These words not in
my mouth, they high.

Like the jail cell in the cell
before my nigga Curry for me

y'all to get by, just
to get by, just to get

by, just to get by y'all.

If you represent Seattle
and you know you fly,

wave your hands in
the goddamn sky.

Let's go.

This morning, I woke
up feeling brand new.

I jumped up, feeling my
high and my lows in my soul.

To stop smoking
and stop drinking.

I've been thinking,
I've got my reasons.

Just to get by, just to get by,
just to get by, just to get by.

Raise your hands if you're
having a good fucking time.

Word up.

Y'all look good, man.

Seattle, how you feel?

How you feel?

I'm not sure.

How you feel tonight?

How you feel?

It's very important.

Feeling is very important.

It's a feeling, word.

Hip hop is a culture.

But some of us wasn't
necessarily born

in the blast radius of
where it started from.

But when you felt it and you
heard it for the first time,

it gave you a feeling.

That's what it is
all about, a feeling.

So yo, right now we're
going to do a song

that we feel invokes a feeling.

All right?

This is from our
Grind Eight album.

The name of this shit is
called Rock Cocaine Flow.

MF DOOM fans, where y'all at?

And it's produced by
one of your own, Jake

one, who's standing
over there on the side.

Shout out to Jake
one in the house.

Word up.

So look.

We going to do this
shit like this.

Are you ready?

Well yo.

We going to rock it
like this, y'all.

With the help of my man, Maceo.

We about to-- with the--

got the-- come on.

We go hey, hey, hey.

We go up in the five star teles.

Two mic rhyme time.

I like that.

We grabbed them,
so systematically

inclined and not without.

Produce his name
all over the track.

Yeah, I said it.

What you need to
do is go back to--

Give me the credits.

One more motherfucking
time, check it out.

With the help of my man Maceo.

Let's go.

Hey, hey, hey, hey.

It go up in the
five star tellies.

Two mic rhyme' time.

I like them.

We grabbed them, so
systematically inclined.

Now we know.

Producer's name
all over the track.

Yeah, I said it.

What you need to do is
go back to reading credits.

One more motherfucking
time, party people.

With the help of my man Maceo.

Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey.

And a, yo.

Check it out, yo.

We go up.

Two mic rhyme.

How did you see that?

I liked that.

We are systematically
inclined, but not without.

Producer's name
all over the track.

Yeah, I said it.

What you need to do is
go back to reading credits.

Let's go.

Party people.

If you are here to party and
you know you are somebody,

help me out.

Let me hear you say party.

Party.

We're about to bite
into a song that's called

and for me, myself, and I.
Mirror, mirror on the wall.

Tell me mirror, what is wrong?

What is wrong?

My De La clothes.

Is it crazy?

What we do ain't make believe.

People think I sit and
try to be in De La Soul.

It's just me, myself, and I.

Sing that shit.

I don't hear you motherfuckers.

Come on.

I need to hear you.

Sing that shit, please.

That sounds good.

And for me, myself, and I. Now
you tease my fluff, one step.

And me without my spectacles.

You say fluff one
and two are hippies.

No we're not.

That's bull.

Always push that,
formed an image.

There's no need to lie.

When it comes to
being plug one, go.

It's just me, myself, and
I. Hey, sing that shit.

I hear the ladies.

Fellas, help them out.

Come on, y'all.

Come on, come on.

Sing that shit.

Look.

This side only.

Say de la la la la.

De la la la la la.

Say de la la la.

Over here.

Say de la la la la.

Say de la.

In America today, people think
they know the way of the soul.

De la is on the road.

They can clear the hate.

Behind the line of inner fire,
we explain this time and time.

Daisies don't mean anything.

Daisies don't mean
a fucking thing.

But the word itself when broken
up wears just a larger pat.

D-A stands for
T-H-E. I is thinner.

S is sap.

Y is y'all.

The inner sound will
help you breathe.

But still we swore to help the
South when we have to explain.

Yeah.

The legendary De La Soul.

Make some noise.

Three is a magic number.

Party people.

This song is dedicated to
our brother, David Jolicoeur.

Plug two.

Somewhere in the
ancient mystic--

I need you to
say, thank you Dave.

Thank you, Dave.

And now, put three fingers
in the air like this.

Put them up.

These three fingers right
here, it represents magic.

Listen up, y'all.

Come on.

Three is a magic number.

Yes it is.

Come on.

Yes it is.

Come on.

Yes it is.

Come on.

Yes it is, yes it is, yes it is.

Difficult is possible pleasure.

Pleasure and preaching
stats in the heart.

Jump in as soon as the
music in the desert.

Music breaks in three parts.

Casually doing soul.

Seeing it doing
an action monkeys.

Doing it but also
no rock and roll.

Stop looking.

Listen to the brain.

Don't get mad because I'm
fucking your daughter.

Just a minute now, sit.

Usually stands for
baby production.

Stands for the inner
sound, your younger band.

Everybody wants to be a DJ.

Everybody wants to be
a D. No more, no less.

You don't have to guess.

Get my feet consist of three and
that's the magic number, bitch.

Now you may try to subtract
it, but it just won't go away.

Three times one.

What is it?

Y'all motherfuckers
needs to learn math.

Peace out, y'all.

We love y'all.

That's the magic number.

Rest in peace to
my brother Dave.

Everybody, welcome to the
New York State of Mind tour.

Get ready for the Wu-Tang clan.

One, two, one, two.

One, two, one motherfucking two.

Let me tell y'all the story.

It was in 1986 before
we had ever made a hit.

I was still in my
crib, late at night.

I was trying to make my beats
come out tight like bang, bang.

Then I felt this sound.

Bang bang.

And it shook the ground.

Bang bang.

It was that Wu-Tang sound.

Bang bang.

And we chose to shoot them now.

Let me tell y'all what happened.

Check it out.

Seasons changed and time
went by, and hip hop culture,

it grew worldwide.

The rappers rapped
and the DJs played.

Then 36 chambers came
and changed the game.

Who turned that sound?

Wu-Tang, the kings
of the underground.

Wu-Tang is back in your
motherfucking town.

Wu-Tang, and we come
to shoot them about.

Up on the 36th chamber.

Yo.

Let me feel your
energy, Seattle.

Let's go.

Wu-Tang killer bees.

It's what?

A swarm.

Wu-Tang killer bees.

It's what?

A swarm.

The Wu-Tang killer bees.

Wu-Tang killer bees.

It's what?

A swarm.

Wu-Tang killer bees.

It's what?

A swarm.

Wu-Tang killer bees.

The Wu-Tang killer bees.

Let me get a Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang,
Wu-Tang, Wu, Wu, Wu, Wu.

It's on your brain.

Wu-Tang killer bees.

It's what?

A swarm.

Wu-Tang killer bees.

It's what?

A swarm.

Wu-Tang killer bees.

The Wu-Tang killer bees.

I think y'all ready.

Come on.

And he did it.

Come on, man.

Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang,
Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Wu.

Welcome folks to the stage,
my brother, your brother.

The greatest MC of all times.

The Inspectah Deck!

Seattle.

Seattle, what's good?

Eyes purple haze.

When they rate, the
airways, cap, this rap pays.

I glide like hovercraft
on the Everglades.

Boy master with
the best of blades.

Trap slasher.

Main effect upon bones rapture.

Limited edition
competition for addiction.

Keep your own distance.

Dominant, intelligent.

Who original?

Two colors.

Most try to get
close by, over no

hide with they hopes up high.

Signaling the tri-state by
breaking beyond the ring.

Blasted the Black when
they spot this live up.

You can't throw it out
before purple high these eyes

in the eyes of a Lisa Thompson.

Probably that Cochrane and
Sharpton, never watch it.

The bad tickets all
by Roberta Flack,

attack like a British
bulldog and understand.

Everybody say Wu-Tang,
Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang.

Welcome to the stage.

Yo, yo, yo, yo.

This is Beirut,
try to comprehend.

Check out my new suit.

God's plan.

I ain't take my indigestion.

Disappear from here.

My gear, dropping
stupid LPs everywhere.

Falling out of the
sky, talk sniper.

Rats by Cappadonna
in the countryside.

Laundry whirlpool, we produce
article exception to the rules.

We the Black men that stop oil.

The hard boil.

Gas that made them
one again spoil.

The heavy handed.

Knock down standard with
Siamese, blue panties.

Stick inside the club, no lies.

Low down dirty, 12 many nights.

Off the wall.

Basketball gun brawlers.

Thank goodness for 9, 7.

Nine nine.

Market.

Come on.

Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang.

Wu, Wu, Wu, Wu, Wu.

Wu.

Wu-Tang.

Wu.

Hey, hey.

The Wu is on your brain.

On your brain, baby.

50 Years of Hip Hop,
what's good, y'all?

Seattle, made some noise.

What's going on, Seattle?

Make some fucking
noise for real hip hop.

Put your hands in the air.

Let's get this show
started right now.

Yo, say do that shit.

Do that shit.

Do it.

Come on, y'all.

Come on.

Do that shit.

Do that shit.
Do it.

Let me talk to you.

Now, yo, yo, what up, yo?

Time is running out.

It's for real though.

Let's connect.

Politic, ditto.

We could trade places.

Get lifted in the staircases.

Word up, peace.

Incarcerated scarfaces.

Thug-related style,
attract millions.

Fans, they understand my plan.

Who's the kid up
in the green land?

Me and the RZA
connect, blow a fuse.

You lose.

Half-ass crews get
demolished and bruised.

Fake be fronting.

Hourglass- heads niggas wanting.

Shutting out your
slot, time for pumping.

Poisonous sting, which
thumps up and act chumps.

Rae's a heavy generator.

But yo, guess who's
the Black Trump?

Dough be flowing by the hour.

Woo, we got the collars
scholars, word life, peace

to power and my whole unit.

Word up.
Quit to set it.

Don't wet it.

Real niggas lick shots, yo.

Yeah, yo, yo.

What up, yo?

Time is running out.

It's the real dough.

Let's get that--

Politic, ditto.

We could trade places, get
lifted in the staircases.

Word up, peace.

Incarcerated--

Scarfaces.

What's up, my people?

Make some fucking noise.

[BARKING]

We came to get busy tonight.

Yeah.

We came to get busy.

Take one hand and put
it in the air like this.

Just one hand.

We're gonna use
this hand as an ax.

And we're going to chop down
all the bullshit in the world

together as I bring out
my brother U-God, better

known as the Golden Arms!

Let's go.

Chop, chop, chop.

Chop it up.

Chop chop chop chop.

We going to chop it up.

Chop, chop, chop, chop.

We going to chop it up.

Chop, chop, chop, chop.

We going to chop it up.

Chop, chop, chop, chop.

We going to chop it up.

Chop, chop, chop, chop.

We going to chop it up.

Chop, chop, chop, chop.

We going to chop it up.

Chop, chop, chop, chop.

Hey, take the
high hat, ding ding.

Moving through the rubbish.

Party rec room, rec room
staff of your brothers.

Time ticking.

Erupt, misconduct.

Before the drum dry up.

Now, now, Jab vocab slow.

Alphabet run voiced by blow.

Tap dance run,
Hemingway novel model.

For Ariba, dirty people,
hide your bottles.

Always come with something
that's round and profound.

Blood brother, people of
color, we getting down.

Watch us fly.

- Force feed things--
- Come on.

- -being said.

Nine diagram, that's
a black evil red.

Serious a man.

My mic clipping levels.

Everlasting clan.

Heavenly god body.

Old champion, old
Philly style steamer.

Kicked the cigar.

What?

Garth overtook drama.

That's why they
go to chop it up.

Chop, chop, chop, chop.

We going to chop it up.

Chop, chop, chop, chop.

We going to chop it up.

Chop, chop, chop, chop.

We going to chop it up.

Chop, chop, chop, chop.

Ah.

This is hip hop, y'all.

Give me some love,
motherfuckers.

Put the W's in the air.

Yeah.

Put the W's up.

Come on.

If you know this
fucking song, we got

to tear this building apart.

RAPPER: Sing along.

Get it in, y'all.

Let's go.

Y'all know this shit.

Sing this shit.

All y'all
motherfuckers let's go.

RAPPER: Raw, I'm a give
it to you with no trivia.

We're like cocaine.

AUDIENCE: Straight from Bolivia.

My hip hop will rock
and shock the nation

like the Emancipation--

RAPPER: Proclamation.

Weak emcees approach
with slang that's dead.

You about to run into the wall.

Bang your head.

I'm pushing force.

My force you're doubting.

I'm making devils cower
to the Caucus Mountains.

A sire.

Set the megaphone on fire.

Rap styles vary and
carry like Mariah.

I've come from the Shaolin
slum the isle I'm from is

coming through, my nigga.

RAPPER: And nuff guns.

So if they want
to come sweating,

stressing, contesting,
you'll catch a sharp sword

to your midsection.

Don't talk the talk if
you can't walk the walk.

Phony ones get outlined in chalk

I'm mad vexed.

It's what the projects made me.

Rebel to the grain, no
way to barricade me.

Steamrolling niggas like an
18-wheeler with a drunk driver

driving.

There's no surviving.

Rough like Timberlane wear.

Yeah.

We and the Clan.

Yo, the Landcruisers out there.

Peace to all the crooks, all
my niggas with bad looks,

bald heads, braids,
blow this hook.

Tecs, nickel platted Macs, Black
Acs, drug dealing styles, fats

stacks.

I only been a good
nigga for a minute,

though, cause, because I got
to get my props and win it, yo.

I got beef, commercial-ass
niggas with gold teeth lamping

in the Lexus eating beef.

Straight up and down.

Don't even bother.

Got 40 ninjas up in
here now fathers.

My peoples, are you with me?
Where you at?

In the front, in the back.
Killer bees on the track.

- Yo.
- My people, are you with me?

Where you at?

Smoking, let's go.

Here I go.

Deep type flow.

Jacques Cousteau could
never get this flow.

Cherry bombing-- ooh.

Just warming up a little bit.

Vroom, vroom.

Rappining is what's happening.

Keep the pockets stacked
and then hands clapping

and at the party, when I
move my body, got to get up.

AUDIENCE: And be somebody.

Grab the microphoen
for strenght.

Here come the Wu Tang zone.

Sure enough, when
I rock the top,

I'm going to catch
your bluff tuff rough.

Kicking it rhymes
like Jim Kelly.

Ah.

Coming raw style, hardcore.

Niggas me coming to
the hip hop store.

Coming to buy grocery from me.

Living to be a hip hop MC.

The law-- in order to enter
the Wu Tang, you must bring--

The Ol' Dirty type slang.

Represent GZA, Abbot, RZA,
Shaquan, Inspectah Deck.

Dirty Ol' getting low wit his--

introducing--

Ghost--

RAPPER: --Face Killah!

Yeah.

- No one could get iller.
- My peoples, are you with me?

- Where you at?
- In the front, in the back.

- Killer bees on attack.
- Hey, yo.

My people, are you with me?
Where you at?

Smoking meth.

HItting cats on the
block with the gats.

Oh.

Homicides is legal.

Death is a penalty.

One justifies the homicide when
he dies in his own iniquity.

It's the Masters of the
Mantis Rapture coming at you.

We have an APB on an MC--

RAPPER: Killer.

Looks like the
work of a master.

Evidence indicates
that his stature,

merciless, like a terrorist.

Hard to capture.

The flow changes
like a chameleon,

blends like a friend, and
stabs you like a dagger.

Look.

This technique attacks
the immune system.

Disguised like a lie,
paralyzing the victim.

You scream.

As it enters your bloodstream.

Erupts your brain from the
pain these thoughts contain.

Moving on a nigga with the
speed of a centipede and injure.

Any motherfucking contender.

My peoples, are you
with me where you at?

In the front, in the back.

Killer bees on attack.

- What?
- My peoples, are you with me?

Where you at?

Smoking meth hitting cats
on the block with the gats.

Come on.

yeah!

Yeah.

RAPPER: Seattle.

RAPPER: You.

Seattle, baby.

Yeah.

Uh oh.

If you love real hip hop
tonight, make some noise.

We're here for y'all.

RAPPER: Yeah.

Get em talk.

Talk to them.

Oh, oh, oh.

RAPPER: Come on.

Look.

Hey,

When I say hip, y'all say hop.

- Hip.
- Hop.

Come on.

When I say don't,
y'all say stop.

- Don't.
- Stop.

- Don't.
- Stop.

Look.

You said the t was
never coming home.

Grandma in a nursing home.

My mind is blown.

I'm no longer alone,
but my fam is deep.

We all love heat.

Military, all marine,
submachine gun.

Legend of Brooklyn,
master craftsman.

Lord, when you dropping?

No said date.

Throught premeditated,
well-calculated.

The air's been tested.

The people can't wait.

So, ah, we agreed to send one
to swim from lost and found.

Truth be the life preserver.

You can't drown.

Drunk with the victory,
the Wu cavalry.

Bomb the seminar.

The last hoo-ra for chivalry.

Classical Yo-Yo Ma.

Laced in the bulletproof fabric.

Crafted and mastered in space.

What better place of
birth than the Earth?

With a star is born
but the path is narrow.

Float across the
Verrazano, stack your ama.

Hit them while we
got the muscle.

In the streets, we
hustle for survival.

What the God reign.

Build me a brain.

Support it with
a physical frame.

Imperial Asiatic material.

Yeah.

Yo, when I say
hip, y'all say hop.

Hip.

Hop.

Hip hop.

Come on.

When I say don't,
y'all say stop.

- Don't.
- Stop

- Don't.
- Stop.

When I say hip, y'all say hop.

- Hip.
- Hop.

RAPPER: Hip.

Hop

When I say don't,
y'all say stop.

Don't.
RAPPER: Stop.

Don't.

AUDIENCE: Stop.

Stop it law mathematics.

- Yes.
- Yes.

RAPPER: Yes.

Hey, yo, Raekwon.

Yeah.

We got a brother in the back
that normally wears a mask.

RAEKWON: They know
him very well.

Some call him the
wallabee champion.

One of the GOATs in the game.

Some call him Tony
Stark's the Iron Man.

Yeah.

RAPPER: His fucking
pen is amazing.

We call him--

RAPPER: The greatest.

- -the Ghostface Killah!

Yeah.

What's up, y'all?

Bring the
motherfucking ruckus.

Hey.

Bring the
motherfucking Ruckus.

RAPPER: Yo, bring it on.

Bring the
motherfucking ruckus.

Bring the motherfucking ruckus.

Yo, Ghostface, catch
the blast of a hype verse.

Glock burst, leave in
a hurse, I did worse.

I come rough, tough
like an elephant tusk.

Your head rush, fly
like Egyptian musk.

Aw shit.

Wu Tang Clan spark the
wicks and however, I master

the trick just like Nixon.

Causing terror, quick
damage your whole era.

Hardrocks is not the
fuck up or found shot.

PLO style.

RAPPER: Get him.

Hazardous because I
wreck this dangerous.

I blow sparks like Waco, Texas.

I watch my back like
I'm locked down, hardcore.

Hitting sound, watch me act
bugged and tear it down.

A literate type asshole,
songs going gold, no doubt.

And you watch corny niggas fold.

Yeah, they fake and all that.

Carrying gats.

Yo, my Clan rolling
like 40 Macs.

So you know you act convinced.

I guess it makes sense.

Yo, Wu Tang, yo.

Sew represent.

Wait for one to act up.

Now I got him back up.

Gun to his neck now.

React, what?

And that's one in the chamber.

Wu Tang banger, 36
styles of danger.

Bring it on.

Bring the
motherfucking ruckus.

Bring the motherfucking ruckus.

Come on.

Bring the
motherfucking ruckus.

Bring the motherfucking ruckus.

- RAPPER: Bring it on.
- I can't hear you.

Bring the
motherfucking ruckus.

Come on.

Bring the
motherfucking ruckus.

Yeah.

Bring the
motherfucking ruckus.

Yeah.

Bring the
motherfucking ruckus.

I rip it hardcore like
porno flick bitches.

I roll with groups, ghetto
bastards with biscuits.

Check it, method on
the microphone banging.

Wu-tang slang, I leave
your headpiece hanging.

Bust this, kicking like
Seagal, "Out For Justice."

The rough shit,
yes, the rudeness.

Redrum, I verbally
assault with the tongue.

Murder one, my style shot
your knot like a stun gun.

I'm hectic.

Wreck it with the quickness.

Set it on the microphone
and competition

get blown by this nasty
ass nigga what my nigga.

The RZA.

Charged like the bull and
got pull like a trigger.

So bad, stabbing up
the pad with the vocab.

Crab, I scream on that
ass like your dad.

Bring it on.

Bring the motherfucking ruckus.

Bring the
motherfucking ruckus.

Bring the motherfucking ruckus

Hey, bring it on.

Woo!

Make some noise!

Seattle in this bitch.

RAPPER: Uh, uh, uh, come on.

So bring it on.

Yeah.

RAPPER: Bring it down.

Yeah.

You are now in a New
York state of mind.

RAPPER: Welcome.

Welcome.

Yeah.

He looks determined
about being ruthless.

Something's heroic.

There's a courage.

Doesn't look like it, though.

Comes across so confident.

Acts like he has a
dream, or a passion.

You don't trust me, huh?

You know, boy.

I'm supposed to trust everyone.

Yeah.

Continue the fly shit.

Everybody, light your
motherfucking reefer.

Grown folks only.

One of the illest.

Matter of fact, one
of the greatest.

I know him very well.

It's my brother.

What's up, guys?

Seattle, what up?

Through the lights, cameras,
and glamour, glitters,

and gold, I Unfold the scroll.

Plant seeds to
stampede the globe.

Deceased-- by then, the
beast will rise like yeast.

Conquer peace, leaving
savages running the streets.

Live on the run.

Police paying me to
give them my gun.

Trick my wisdom with the
system that imprison my son.

Smoke a gold leaf.

Hold heat nonchalantly.

Raunchy, things I do is
real, it never haunts me.

Wow.

Funny style, people
roll in the pile.

Roster heads profile on
a bus to Rikers Isle.

Holding weed inside their
pussy with their minds.

Pretty things in life.

Props is a true thug's wife.

It's like a cycle.

Niggas come home.

Some'll go in.

Do a bullet, come back,
do the same thing again.

From the womb to the tomb,
presume the unpredictable.

Guns salute life rapidly.

That's the ritual.

Raekwon, the chef.

Yeah.

White God.

We can see it through the eyes.

Ghostface, what up?

Kilos disintegrate.

Pyrex pots we break.

Fiends licking plates.

Now in the building,
niggas building.

Little children staring.

Them older niggas ain't caring.

Sirens circling fiends,
lurking in your baggage.

One, one's gone.
Now what?

Smack him in his cabbage.

In the woodwork, crack
cells bubble like Woolworth.

The project, real niggas
rocking all the real worth.

Police questioning,
rooftop cats investing in,

trading in their Lexuses,
sending messages.

2 and 2 makes 4,
Cristals crazily pour.

Gun wars, my crew
phantom like swords.

RAPPER: Green leathers,
100 pound snakes and cakes.

Fiends found in legs.

Jealousy Jake.

What I strive for
is what I live for.

Infatuated by material
things, and it's wild.

Life for war.

Like somewhere over the
rainbow, see a big pot of gold.

Future stacks, so I hold hold.

Thousands of cracks
bagged inside a shoe box.

Don't keep jack in my lap.

- Don't want to see Tupac.
- Got two stops--

Rest in peace.

- -flooded with rocks.

Shootouts making me hot.

Crooked cops, Bad Tony--

And it's all dropped.

In the now, banging
niggas for slide time.

- Hurry up, Duke.
- I'm next.

Show them mine.

And what the fuck
is you looking at?

By the way, young blood, hit
me off with that Seattle hat.

Watch your back inside the hall.

New niggas slide
through like doors.

- Yo.
- They staring in the mess hall.

The aderenaline runs.

Cigarette niggas is swindling,
new jacks surrendering.

Come home not remembering.

Made bail, different
size kicks on.

White dress shirt,
looking weak in the yard.

And you got hurt.

Flashbacks of the day
room, mop ringer style.

Got bashed.

Trying to turn the dial.

You told your boo
you was whyling.

Once you heard Wu
out of the blue--

Yeah.

High class crooks
throw on vestest.

Out of phonebook.

Infirmary niggas
are screaming--

I got drugs.

Sharpen toothbrushes, 190
mixed with baby oil and shit.

Your man's in the kitchen
stashing-- come on!

And I'm a end it with a
big red cherry on top.

Me, Nas, and Rae got the
best product on the block.

My whole team is eating
off of this good shit.

Good shit, nigga.

Next time, overlook shit.

Keep your eyes open and
your wallet in front.

Chef, Chef and Nas,
niggas, is the prophet.

What up, baby?

Ha ha ha.

Make some noise for the
greatest rapper alive right

here.

I love this--

Make some fucking noise.

The two greatest rappers ever.

Give it up for the greats.

Nas, y'all.

I can't wait to
get back to Seattle.

It's no city like it.

Let's go into it.

Oh!

This is a letter to all
kings and all queens.

Yeah, you see, you see, I made
the fade famous, chain famous.

QB on the chest,
match the stainless.

Amazing Grace, I'm gracefull
aging without masonry.

More paper to play with.

No rap in my playlist.

Sold dimes on my day shift.

So can I speak?

Can I talk?

Can I breathe?

Can I walk?

Can I floss without you
wanting me outlined in chalk?

Family gossiping,
pocket watching him.

Jealousy keeps blossoming.

Don't let it box me in.

If you ever heard the
"King's Disease" albums,

you can just bob your head.

That's all I need.

Real shit.

I used to be at The Tunnel,
20 deep in the huddle.

Razors on us that
makes skin bubble.

Moet, we guzzle.

Chris Lighty let
me in with nines.

That's on God.

Wish you would have walked
by and bumped me hard or just

looked at me wrong.

My chain on.
Book me.

You gone.

Goons, Italian leathers,
couple bottles of Dom.

Took risk.

This ain't what you want.

There's rules to this.

Don't get it misconstrued.

My suit game is crisp.

Silk, linen, chiffon,
Dior to Diadora.

But I rock custom more.

RAPPER: Yeah.

The hustle aura-- tap in.

Razor cutter, '90s, '80s
lover, raised in gutters.

Raised above it.

They made it up out
the hood subject.

I made you love it.

Crazy.

I knew this girl
who had a blue Benz.

If you know the song,
just bob your head.

Oh.

Yes, true story shit.

Come on.

In Kingston, Jamaica, where
veteran kingpins bought acres.

Rest in peace, Louis Rankin.

Original Don Dada.

Rest in peace to Louis
Rankin, a Jamaican godfather.

Turn it.

Turn it up.

Spicy shit.

Yeah, boss shit.

Your lordship used
to run the block.

Now I'm corporate.

What happened now?

You know it's Nas
when the doors lift.

Whole squad hide the burners.

Mets hat in the sky
lay Bobby Shmurda.

They watch me like a chip
courtside at The Rucker.

Flow only getting tougher.

She begging me to cuff her.

Brooklyn Sweet Chick waffles
with raspberry butter.

Rock a mink in a roller
rink, middle of the summer.

If I can't get it done,
soldiers with me to cover.

Queens get the money.

Yeah, yeah.

Upward space get pricy.

Get spicy.

She on demon time.

I got her a timepiece.

Patek.

She not lit, not lightly.

Can't get nothing by me.

My mind in 2090.

Que lo que, everybody pricey.

Cost money, beat
the charge money.

Fast money push to start money.

Big money, Escobar money.

Uh.

Somebody make some
noise in the building.

Where my OGs at?

OGs.

OG talk.

RAPPER: Yeah.

Project halls, where
a nigger seen it all.

RAPPER: For real, for real.

I can see niggas are sly.

I'd better show them the ropes.

Integrity matters the most.

I give the hood hope.

yeah, I gave the hood classics,
something to open your mind

instead of going out crashing.

How would you feel
when you hate the real?

My nigga, I'm simply asking.

Can't just go up out the plan.

Ain't no pity
party for yourself.

You got to get up,
rise for your wealth.

Can't spend on that
time in your feelings.

Sympathize with yourself.

Don't nobody owe you.

Ain't nobody holding you back.

You're stuck in illusions,
attached to something

that ain't even that.

South beach, Nassau,
Maldives, same beach.

Unless you are after something
that most men can't see.

Shorty off the block, shorty
off the runway, same freak.

They all got the answers.

We all got the same key.

OG talk.

I pray we all live to be OGs.

You know, crime,
drugs violence.

40 side.

Out of all of this, you
got to look for the positive.

OG talk.

Yeah!

This tour is rare.

Your man right here?

A rare.

To everybody out
there, we are rare.

Oh, oh.

KD2.

I feel like it's my
birthday every day.

Yo, yo.

I'm in rare form.

Niggas speak down on my name
like I wasn't here for them.

Talk about back in the days.

This isn't back in the days.

They want me back at my ways.

Chipped tootha nd the fade.

Nah.

See, musically, I'm on Mars
walking all over the beat,

putting my feet on the stars.

I rock it like Lenny, thinking
like Jimi the first time

he seen the guitar.

Standing in front of where
they shot Ahmaud and said

we got to know who we are.

Yeah.

I'm in rare form
wearing rare Jordans

straight from Air Jordan.

This is fair warning.

Too many of y'all
beef over nothing.

When you get money,
you know that it's

coming, tainted homies.

Where you at Seattle?

Let's go!

Oh!

I got my arm to the back.

Y'all already know where
we going with the stats.

Hall of Fame only,
kings and queens only.

They all be grabbing my style.

But you know they can't hold me.

Yo.

Somebody make some
noise in here!

[CHEERING]

Talk that.

Yo.

My thumb struck a lot
of lighters, pulled

a lot of all-nighters, banned
from some after hour spots,

crew would choose
violence, move in silence.

Who knew I'd grow
to build an empire?

Streets had me
against the ropes.

Yeah.

TEC's on the dresser, money
on tech, pushing a Tesla.

Rolled up a fresh one.

It's one IPO to the next one.

Rich from corporate or
thugging, expensive mistakes.

It's all a racket, it's the
same thing, just the risk

that you take.

Moving too fast,
losing your ass.

Boys came through with the task.

Peep through the blinds,
you knew it was curtains.

Breadwinner took an L,
the whole family hurting.

Seen it a million
times, system washed

him out with the verdict.

Oh.

So I'm clean as a whistle.

Yes.

Drinking premium
liquor in between two

Argentinian sisters.

They counting up for me until
their fingers get blisters.

What I blew that on?

I cannot seem to remember.

The world is yours!

Oh!

Yeah.

Which album is this?

KD II?

- KD II.
- All right.

Let's keep going.

If you ever heard
King's Disease II,

this one is called
Death Row East.

True story now.

Bounce, bounce, bounce.

Right back at this.

- Right back.
- Right back.

Right back.

Hold up, whoa.

High on life, drunk
off dark liquor.

Shit getting eerie like
I threw on Thriller.

Bitch I'm a hard
hitter, Rolex clocks

and killers holding the order.

I'm praying God delivers.

I have run-ins with Suga.

Niggas would have been shook.

At the height of the beef
they started Death Row East.

Damn.

I even saw they tees
on some of my Gs.

Notorious label, the story
was made in the streets.

The story was made
in the streets.

True story.

The story was made
in the streets.

Death Row East.

Which album is this?

Oh, we on Magic.

Which Magic is this?

This is Magic I.

If you know about
Magic I, what up?

This one right here is
called, It's Ugly Outside,

written off real experiences.

Let's go.

It's ugly.

Get ugly.

Yeah.

It's ugly outside.

It's foggy.

It's money outside.

105 Fahrenheit,
thunderous skies.

The cloud's shape a
clown face about where

they reside, under his eye, a
teardrop got the ugliest cry.

They call my city Gotham,
opposite of pretty.

Weatherman cannot
predict bullets

raining from out the 50.

It's ugly outside.

Big L would be
here if it wasn't.

Hell'll freeze over the
it doesn't get ugly out.

How can we hug it
out after we slug it?

We should be buying acres,
adjusting each other's crown.

That was your brother back then.

How could you gun him down?

What's up, Seattle?

[CHEERING]

Can you feel the magic?

Yeah.

It's a real night tonight.

Let's get this right down.

Check.

I'm 23 years past the 27 Club.

It's like I went back into
my past then I sped it up.

Robert Johnson, Winehouse, and
Morris found where heaven was.

Heaven on Earth, this shit
is magic with no fairy dust.

Home of the gully gangsta,
gruesome and the scary stuff.

I told my brother
Jung, "Fuck 'em.

They gonna go
through hell with us.

They don't have the history in
the street to compare with us."

Hood niggas, they want to be
us, thugs in the St. Regis.

Everything, it's time.

The second internet,
number three is this rhyme.

Before security my dawg
had to sneak in the nine.

God must be on my side.

I had to eat and provide,
my winning streak is divine.

Yeah.

I told Dunn, "Leave
the street shit behind.

Don't let 'em hype you, a slow
run beats cheating the grind.

Dawg, I'm telling it like it is.

You got to deal with
the consequence.

When you're running in
nigga's crib, nigga,

you better be ready to sit.

Dope dealers, street
hustlers, pop cases,

throw dice on pavement, cops.

Big gamblers, skullies,
hide face, gang wars,

hot spots, police raid it.

I left 'em speechless.

Shit.

If you know that Magic I shit.

Yeah, I left 'em speechless.

Yeah.

Here we go.

Seattle, I feel at home.

[CHEERING]

Yeah!

That '70s heroin.

Heroin pressed on.

Yeah!

Let's go!

This side, what's up?

That side, what's up?

I got so many kids in this game,
it's like a gender revealing.

I got that feeling, Lionel
Richie, dancing in the ceiling.

And Van Gogh when you
paint me the villain.

The hate is real
but you should know

that the love is way realer.

Crafty with a pen way
before I could pack 'em in.

Nasty with dreads, slim teen,
young, I was passionate.

A brand new book, crackling
sound when you open it.

I drop in it.

It might sound like
I'm writing hymns.

Manhattan keeps on making it.

Brooklyn keeps on taking it.

What's with my thuns?

And Queens keep on kicking it.

This for my thuns.

If you ever been to Queens,
New York, where I'm from,

this is that energy.

Queens in the house.

KD III.

Not niggas I really
met through music shit,

it be the real thugs
I grew up with.

Phone calls from the feds,
long story told fast, wishing

they come home in a hurry.

It's a of a dying pack of
lions, nightmares of the cats.

Thoroughbred
surviving, you know.

Queens in the house.

Welcome home, Ronnie
Bump, and love the Callie.

That boss order us lobster
tails late night in 40.

We was out there trying
to rid the stress,

had a beat tape
from Stretch, rest,

Black TEC, black vest
to match the dark aura.

Hit the city deep
in the Explorer.

At The Source, wish
I was the cover

story that was coming shortly.

Cars back, the raw
back in Rest in peace

a few good men, the
guard's stalked him.

I pop a bottle.

We not promised tomorrow.

Showing love is the motto.

Cowboy hat, strapped
like desperados.

Let one out the chamber, no eye
or fire in a vegetative state

when that man China died.

Stomped out on 12th
Street, memory fails me.

Hurt homie was a real G,
that's what they tell me.

I was the one to run
through the sections.

Rest in peace to
my man, Money Bags.

Y'all know the section.

Queens in the house.

Seattle in the
motherfucking house!

[CHEERING]

We on fire tonight!

From the Hate Me Now
video, it's continual.

All I need is a beat
and I'm stitching you.

Stitching these words together.

I'm still getting better,
finding the gold as I dig

in the dirt with the shovel.

Got the last laugh, blown
away by the backdraft.

I'm on fire.

Don't be scared now.

I'm on fire.

What'd you say?

Don't be scared now.

I'm on fire.

Nas, giving 'em hell now.

We on fire.

Starting to see him sweat.

Don't be scared now.

I'm on fire.

Nah, don't be scared now.

I'm on fire.

Nas giving 'em hell now.

Seattle, what's up!

[CHEERING]

Go.

Go!

Bitch, I'm in a good
mood, good groove.

Pour me up.

The plane leaves in 30,
fix your life, hurry up.

Fix your life.

Ackee rice, peas,
putting curry over duck.

Court rhyme, Curry up.

Smoking weed in a
tux, sipping Ricard.

Chilling on Governor's
Isle with all the killers,

premiere movies
with my man DeNiro.

Johnny Nunez got
all the pictures.

Black-grown, Black-owned,
Black women be my backbone.

Latin food in the back room.

Big business, I'ma
drop a new yak, June.

Yo.

Rich, matte black Rolls,
yeah I got 'em seeing ghosts.

27 summers, that
wasn't even a goal.

Uh uh.

Blowing kush clouds and
we all for the smoke.

Bitch, black Rolls,
more Black CEOs.

Bitch, I'm in a good mood,
good crew, pour me up.

Mass appeal, movies
and music sign with us.

Pacino.

All my nigga's millionaires.

G-Code know what's up.

What up, Seattle?

What the fuck!

Let's go!

Rich, matte black Rolls,
yeah, I got 'em see ghost.

What else?

27 summers, that
wasn't even a goal.

Blowing kush clouds and
we all for the smoke.

Bitch, black card, black
Rolls, more Black CEOs.

Magic III.

Happy birthday, hip hop,
turning 50 this year.

[CHEERING]

And happy birthday to me turning
50 this year, god damn it!

Early on the wake up,
cunning as the father

of the 12 sons of Jacob.

Shake up the world, cake crumbs.

Cover my gold teeth,
cufflinks, waiters,

lobster sauce on aprons.

Pardon, that's chef.

Burgundy on the breath.

I was 13 when I stepped,
dancing to every song

like it's a contest,
singing to Stevie Wonder,

"Happy Birthday,"
celebrating years

of flows and crazy wordplay.

Seasoned I'm leaving
my 40s, I'm a griot.

Deep as Deepak Chopra,
dress socks and loafers.

Family only, holding
hands with a cold piece.

Bow to the old me.

I'm officially OG.

Might throw a roast me,
wonder what will the jokes be.

Watching 'em imitate
my cool demeanor.

I'm in the fucking
Seattle arena.

Throw the dice in this
life and I hit the fever.

Let's go!

Wolf of the NYC.

This is prophecy.

No, this is history.

Evolve constantly.

Half a century.

Put your glasses up,
represent for me.

Represent, represent.

Represent for me.

Represent, represent for me.

Fly from infancy
to half a century.

Represent, represent,
represent for me.

That's six albums in
two and 1/2 years.

Shit.

Long time you've been outside.

All I see is
blurbs, all I see is

words, nerds talking about
what I did, seen, or heard.

And all I see is clones,
see you small fuckers

with mixtape players, cause
I seeing what they doing.

And all they talk is this.

But they ain't saying shit.

They talk reckless when
I do not work for them.

Which one it is, since
you such a music whiz?

First thing I heard when
you coming up with age,

they stumble in your space,
you punch 'em in the face.

The second thing I heard,
I was in the second grade,

sliding on to second base,
I can orchestrate this game.

The third I heard, if
it quacks it's a duck.

The fourth, of course,
be upfront what you want.

The fifth was this, keep
something lit on your wrist.

Now I'm on album six,
top team on your list.

Oh!

Got to grab another hundo.

Industy cuttthroat, watch
how I construct though.

Uh.

Concrete jungle.

If rappers were presidents,
I would get Trump's vote.

Uh.

I can really stay humble, or
I can take it back to Nasty

if I want to, some
young, dumb, crazy

motherfucker from the hood.

What's up?

Ah shit.

What's up?

This side, what up?

That side, what up?

What to the back!

Let's go!

Yeah.

A divine creature, ran
through dimes, divas.

I turned blocks to beaches
by the time you see us.

We just turn tides even.

Cuban links got
the largest pieces.

But I'm wild for keeping
this on almost half

a century with a crispy lineup.

My peep Sallam said I
remind him, Martin Lawrence,

breaking hearts
on some real thin.

I'm done with star
chicks, survived divorces,

I ain't have to climb
back, I climbed in Porches.

Jealous.

I ain't have to climb back.

I was the ill seed,
the illest one.

Villainized but I feel
free and the field be crazy

way before the drill beef.

Doesn't matter, this
is sheer relief.

I feel the breeze,
this is superhero

material, rap star status.

Premier album
still right happen.

I wonder why Pete Rock
would act like that.

And now I can't tell 'em
all the good that I did.

It's been hid with they
agenda, again, nigga.

I know they all praying
I go back to nothing.

Fuck 'em.

See, this is practice,
this is magic, history,

havoc, instinct, classic.

This is madness in all fairness.

We been moving all
these fuck niggas.

One of y 30 for 30
highlights doing numbers.

Going on 30.

Summers, going on 30 summers.

Going on 30.

It's because of you!

30 summers.

Going on 30 summers.

I ain't seen no nigga do this.

I like to wear numbers.

King.

Salute to all the
kings out there!

King.

And my ladies, I salute and
I bow to my queens out there!

Queens!

It's a celebration tonight.

Shout out to De La Soul,
Wu-Tang Clan, and Seattle,

the perfect city for this tour.

We've been moving on
these fuck niggas,

one of my 30 for 30 highlights.

I'm talking about
family tonight.

Seattle, we are family!

You hear me?

To many years.

I got bring my
brother Raekwon out.

Is that OK with y'all?

Hey, yo.

What's up, bro?

I think we got to do this
one for them for real though.

We got to.

As time goes by,
an eye for an eye.

We in this together, Rae.

Your beef is mine, Nas.

So long as the sunshine
can light up the sky,

we in this together, Lord.

Your beef is mine.

And yo, as time goes
by, an eye for an eye.

We in this together.

Sing it, y'all!

Come on.

So long as the
sunshine can light up.

Let's go, baby.

We in this together, bro.

Your beef is mine.

A drug dealer's dream.

Stash Key's keys
on a triple beam.

500 SL green, 95 nickle gleam.

Condominium, thug dressed like a
gentleman, tailor-made ostrich.

Chanel for my women friend.

Thundering numbers on your
head while I'm burglaring.

Shank is serving 'em.

What's up to all
my niggas swerving.

New York metropolis, the
Bridge brings apocalypse.

Shoot at the cloud.

Feel like the holy
beast is watching us.

Mad man, my sanity.

Go inside the hourglass.

Gun inside my bad head.

I sliced trying to bag grams.

- I got girls that could've--
- Milked you.

- Brothers who could've--
- Killed you.

And styled with my
ill crew of psychos.

Nas Escobar moving on your
weak production, puppet

corruption in the third world.

We just busting.

And hold up.

Analyze these
wildcats, sling crack,

swing an ax, the new
routines be my eyes black.

Let's go!

Playing corners, glancing
all up in your cornea.

- OK.
- Corner ya--

Hey yo!

- -seen cats snatch
monies up on you.

Hey, you.

But late night candlelight,
fiend with a crack pipe.

It's only right, feeling
higher than an airplane ride.

Word, yo.

I want to get this
money and blow.

Take my time, blast a nine.

If you front, you go.

We sip beers.

- The German one.
- And hand my gun--

- --to son.
- It's Shaolin--

And Queensbridge.

We robbing niggas for fun.

But still, write my will
to my seeds then build.

Mahalia, sing the tale, but
the real, we still kill.

As time goes by,
an eye for an eye.

Come on, y'all.

We in this together.

Your beef is mine.

So long as the sunshine could
light up the sky, we in this--

I see y'all on top.
What's up?

Your beef is mine.

As time goes by,
an eye for an eye.

We in this the best.

Your beef is mine.

Hey, yo, so long
as the sunshine

could light up the sky,
we in this together, Rae.

Your beef is mine.

Love.

[LAUGHS]

Yo, this is my
heart right here.

Give it up for Nas, y'all!

We like gangstas all the time.

I love y'all.

Real hip hop in the building.

Make some fucking noise.

I think it's time,
let's go, Lord.

Come on.

Come on!

Let me you say, ho!

Say ho!

Come on.

Oh, shit.

If you love real hip hop,
bob your fucking head.

Bob your head.

Pull your shirts up.

Let's go, baby.

Come on.

Hey, yo.

Say peace to cats who
rock mad knowledge.

Knowledge is street
astrologist, light up the mic.

God knowledge us.

Flashpoint, carats and
points can roll the Motorola.

- Hold up.
- Play it, God.

We crack over the shoulder.

Chrome tanks,
player like Yanks.

Check the franchise.

Front on my guys,
my enterprise--

Rappel on fakes
like reflectors.

- Come on!
- He had sugar in his ear.

His last crack career.

Yo, we can can him,
manhandle him, if you wanna.

Run in his crib-o, get ditto--

Skate like a limo.

Jet to the fliest estate,
relate, take a break, bread

down an eighth and then wait.

Drop it like Drake.

Thugs, they be
booing and screwing.

We canoing, claim they doing
the same shit we doing.

Fuck a unit.

It's the same
style, RZA trainable.

Jump the turnstyle.

We on the alley,
try to challenge--

God for the new vials.

Especially that,
aluminum bat in the hat.

Relax, lay back,
sell a grenade a day.

It pays, Black.

The Mac-10 flex
white cats like Windex.

Index finger be sore--

Busting them fly scripts.

The Wally can't count
crazily, grands with our plans.

Laying with bitches and my--

Man's in Lex land.

We losing 'em.

Jet to the stash.

- And now Jerusalem.
- Abusing 'em.

Rocking the jewels
while we using 'em.

Low pro star, seven
thick wave rock, hold on.

With the older guard.

Build with the
sun and the stars.

Sing that shit!

That goes, got that
shit that'll rock me.

Come on.

The Wu is here to bring
you Shaolin's finest.

But if your shit is weak,
you better step up behind us.

Whoa.

[CHEERING]

We here for y'all, man.

Hey, yo, Seattle, man.

Could we get some
noise in here for 50

years of fucking hip hop, man?

[CHEERING]

Some shit that they
never ever thought

was going to take
place, took place.

Hip hop is the most
conditional, special shit

in the whole fucking planet.

Music is everywhere, from here
to Peru, to fucking Arabia,

to Alaska, all because
of us, hip hop shit, man.

But yo, real quick, man.

The rest of y'all, where you at?

I need you to come out
here and represent, talk

to the people about hip hop.

Yo.

Do that for me.

What up, Seattle?

[CHEERING]

Talk to him, Rz.

Can I take a toast
for hip hop, 50 years?

Absolutely.

Yeah.

Woo.

North, East, West, South.

Hip hop is here for 50 years.

It started in New York City,
made its way around the world,

and is now the number one form
of music in the entire world!

[CHEERING]

Yeah, yeah.

Facts.

And one thing remains
true, Wu-Tang Clan

ain't nothing to fuck with!

Oh, shit.

Energy!

Let's go.

Let's fuck this building up.

Let's fucking destroy this shit.

Wu-Tang Clan ain't
nothing to fuck with.

Wu-Tang Clan ain't--

Wu-Tang Clan ain't
nothing to fuck with.

There's place to hide
once I step inside the room.

Dr. Doom, prepare for the boom.

Bam!

Aw, man, I slam, jam,
now scream like Tarzan.

I be tossing and flossing,
my style is awesome.

I'm causing more Family Feuds--

Than Richard Dawson.

And the survey said?

You're dead.

The fatal flying guillotine
jumps off your fucking head.

Mister, who is that?

Hey, yo, the Wu is back.

Make a nigga go--

Bo, bo, bo.

Like I'm Super Cat.

We fear no one.

Oh no, here come the Wu-Tang
shogun, killer to the eardrum.

Needle to the
groove, I get rude.

But, to fuck it up, my
carry like a pickup truck.

- Cross the clear blue--
- Yonder.

- -sea to shining sea.

I slam track like
quarterback sacks.

From LT.

So why try and
test the rebel INS.

Blessed since the birth,
earth-slam your best.

And I bake the cake, here
take the cake and eat it too.

My crew, we head state to state.

If you want beef
then bring the ruckus.

Wu-Tang Clan ain't--

CROWD: Nothing to fuck with.

Straight from
the motherfucking

slum that's busted.

Wu-Tang ain't--

CROWD: Nothing to fuck with.

Seattle, make some noise for
our brother, the Method Man!

Yo, the Meth will come out--

CROWD: Tomorrow.

Styles, get busy,
bizarre, bizarro,

flow with more afro than Rollo.

Coming to a fork in the road.

Which way to go?

Just follow.

Meth is the legend,
niggas are Sleepy Hollow.

In fact, I'm a
hard act to follow.

I dealt for dolo.

Bogart is coming on through.

Niggas is like--

Oh my God, not you.

Yes, I, could to get a
slice of the punk and the pie,

rather do than die,
check my flavor,

coming from the RZA
which is short for the--

- Razor.
- Ooh.

Made me reminisce
you like deja--

Vu.

I'm rubber.

Niggas is like glue.

Whatever you say rubs off me.

It sticks in
you, you, you, you.

If you know the
song, sing along.

Wu-Tang Clan ain't--

CROWD: Nothing to fuck with.

Wu-Tang Clan ain't--

CROWD: Nothing to fuck with.

Wu-Tang Clan ain't--

CROWD: Nothing to fuck with.

Wu-Tang Clan ain't
nothing to fuck with.

Yah!

Yeah.

Yeah.

I see you.

[CHEERING]

Sound nice.

Seattle!

What's crackin'?

[CHEERING]

When I say Ric
Flair, y'all say woo!

Ric Flair.

CROWD: Woo!

Ric Flair.

CROWD: Woo!

Ric Flair!

CROWD: Woo!

Let's go.

Roll the dice,
man, roll the dice.

This is for all the weed
smokers in the building.

Light it up.

Money feel good, you know?

[WU-TANG CLAN, "METHOD MAN"]
From the slums of Shaolin,

Wu-Tang Clan strikes again.

The RZA, the GZA--

CROWD: Ol' Dirty Bastard.

[WU-TANG CLAN, "METHOD MAN"]
Inspectah Deck.

Raekwon the Chef, U-God,
Ghostface Killah and--

M-E-T-H-O-D Man, M-E-T-H-O-D
Man, M-E-T-H-O-D Man,

M-E-T-H-O-D. Come on.

Hey, you, get off my cloud.

You don't know me and
you don't know my style.

Who be gettin' flam
when they come to a jam?

Here I am, here I
am, the Method Man.

Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake,
hey, the Method Man.

Don't eat Skippy, Jif,
or Peter Pan peanut

butter 'cause I'm not butter.

In fact, I snap back
like a rubber band.

Hey, I be Sam, Sam-I-Am.

And I don't eat
green eggs and ham.

Style'll hit ya,
wham, then goddamn.

You'll be like, "Oh,
shit that's the jam."

Turn it up.

Now hear me get buck w-w-w-wild.

I'm about to blow.

Light me up.

Upside, downside,
inside and outside.

Hittin' you from every
angle, and there's

no doubt I am the one and
only Method Man, the master

of the plan, rappin' shit like
Saran wrap with some of this

and some of that.

Hold up.

Wait, I thought I saw
a putty cat over there.

Over there, but I think he best
to beware of the diggy dog shit

right here.

Yippy yippy yay,
yippy yah, yippy yo.

Like Deck said, "This
ain't your average flow.

Comin' like rah,
ooh-ah, achie-kah.

Tell me, how you like
it so far, baby paw?

The poetry's in motion
coast to coast and rub

it on your skin like lotion.

What's the commotion?

CROWD: Oh my Lord.

Another corn chopped--

CROWD: --by the Wu-Tang Clan.

Hey, hey, hey--
CROWD: --like Fat Albert.

[WU-TANG CLAN, "METHOD MAN"]
It's the Method Man,

ain't no if ands about it.

It's the-- roll that shit.

Light that shit.
Smoke it.

Roll that shit.
Light that shit.

Smoke it.

Roll that shit.
Light that shit.

Smoke it.

Roll that shit.

Light that shit.

I got fat bags of skunk.

I got White Owl blunts.

And I'm about to go get lifted.

Yes, I'm about to go get lifted.

I got--

CROWD: --myself a 40.

And I got--

CROWD: --myself a shorty.

[WU-TANG CLAN, "METHOD MAN"] And
I'm about to go and stick it.

Yeah, I'm about to
go and stick it.

Give it 'em.

Hey!

[CHEERING]

Make some more fuckin' noise.

Yeah.

Ric Flair.

CROWD: Woo!

Ric Flair.

CROWD: Woo!

Ric Flair.

CROWD: Woo!

Let's go.

[WU TANG CLAN, "ALL
I NEED (REMIX)"]

Oh, shit.

This song is for all
good relationships.

Any women, lots of love.

Love is for everybody, uh.

Swear to God, I hope we
fuckin' die together.

1, 2, 3, dig that shit.

Die together.

Talk to 'em.

Shorty, I'm there for
you anytime you need me.

For real girl, it's me in
your world, believe me.

Nothing make a man feel
better than a woman.

Queen with a crown that
be down for whatever.

There are a few things
that's forever, my lady.

We can make war or make babies.

Back when I was nothing,
you made my brother

feel like he was something.

That's why I'm with you to
this day, boo, no frontin'.

Even when the skies were gray,
you would rub me on my back

and say, "Baby, it'll be OK."

Now that's real to a
brother like me, baby.

Never ever give my pussy
away and keep it tight.

Aight?

I'ma walk these dogs so
we can live in a fat-ass

crib with thousands of kids.

Word life, you don't need
a ring to be my wife.

Just be there for me
and I'ma make sure we be

living in effin' lap of luxury.

I'm realizing that you
didn't have to funk with me.

But you did.

Now I'm going all out kid.

And I got mad love to give.

You my nigga.

I swear to fuckin' God
I hope we die together.

Fellas, fellas, lie together,
cry together, I swear to God.

I hope we fuckin'
die together. yeah.

Stone Mecca, take
'em to the bridge.

Like sweet morning dew.

Sing it.

I took one look at you.

Come on.

And it was plain to see.

What?

CROWD: You were my destiny.

Keep it goin', y'all.

[WU TANG CLAN, "ALL I NEED
(REMIX)"] I dedicate my life.

I sacrifice for you.

Dedicate my life to you.

[CHEERING]

Seattle, one more
time for the Method Man!

[CHEERING]

Hey, yo, man.

Yeah?

We out here
celebrating hip hop.

Can we take them
back to "36 Chambers"

and do a song that
features our brother Ol'

Dirty Bastard, but
have his first born

son, the Young
Dirty Bastard, come

out here and do the lyrics.

Can he do that?

Let's go, man.

Oh, shit.

Yeah.

Uh, turn it up a little bit,

[WU TANG CLAN, "SHAME ON A
NIGGA"]

[VOCALIZING]

YDB, what up?

Somebody say, ho.

Say ho.

Say ho, ho.

Then scream.

Uh, uh, uh, uh.

Shame on a nigga who try
to run game on a nigga.

Wu buck wild with the trigger.

Shame on a nigga who try
to run game on a nigga.

Yo, I'll fuck your ass up!

Hut one, hut two,
hut three, hut.

Ol' Dirty Bastard
live and uncut.

Styles unbreakable,
shatterproof.

To the young youth,
you wanna get gun?

Shoot!

Blam!

How you like me now?

Don't fuck the style.

Ruthless, wild-- do you
wanna get your teeth

knocked the fuck out?

Then shout.

Yo, RZA, yo, razor--

hit me with the major.

Damage, my clan
understand it, be flavor

gunnin', hummin', comin' at ya.

First I'm gonna get ya.

Once I got ya, I gat ya.

You could never capture
Method Man's stature

for rhyme and for rapture.

Got niggas resignin',
now master.

My style?

Never!

I put the fuckin' buck in
the wild, kid, I'm terror.

Razor-sharp, I sever the
head from the shoulders.

I'm better than my compet'ta.

You mean competitor.

Whatever, let's get together.

Shame on a nigga who try
to run a game on a nigga.

Wu buck wild with the trigger.

I react so click.

And yo, and Chef came blowin'
and blew off your headphones,

back.

Rap from, yo, Cali to Texas.

Smoother than a Lexus.

Now's my turn to wreck shit.

Brothers approaching and half
step but ain't heard half of it

yet.
I bet you're not a fuckin' vet.

So when you see me on the
real formin' like Voltron,

remember I got deep
like a Navy SEAL.

Shame on a nigga who try
to run game on a nigga.

Wu buck wild with the trigger.

Shame on a nigga who try
to run game on a nigga.

Come on.

Yo, I'll fuck your ass up.

Get 'em.
Go talk to 'em real quick.

Here we go.
Yo!

I come put that ol' loco
style from my vocal.

Couldn't peep me with
a pair of bifocals.

I'm no Joker.

Play me as a joker.

Be on you like a house on--

smoke ya.

Crews be actin' like
the gangs, every way.

Be like, "Warriors,
come out and play."

Dirty shit.

I let it out like diarrhea.

Got burnt once, but
that was only gonorrhea.

Dirty, I keep shit
stains in my drawers

so I can get fizzy-funky for ya.

Murder, taste the
flame of the Wu-Tang.

Rah!

Here comes the
Tiger versus Vrane.

I'll be like wild with my style.

Punk-- you play me,
chump, you get jumped.

Wu! is coming through
at a theater near you.

And get funk like a shoe.

Shame on a nigga who try
to run game on a nigga.

Wu buck wild with the trigger.

Shame on a nigga who try
to run game on a nigga.

Yo, I'll fuck your ass up!

Especially if you're
white and you say nigga.

Uh-huh.

Make some noise, y'all!

[BARKING]

Yeah.

Nice.

Big dos.

You know what?

We're in an incredible city.

I just got to say this, Seattle.

Y'all gave me a couple of
my favorite heroes like Jimi

Hendrix and Bruce Lee and shit.

It's like just an amazing city
right here beyond fuckin' all

the Boeings and and fuckin'--

Man, fuck that shit.

He used to dunk in
this building, man.

Hell yeah, right?

Real shit, real shit.

It's the glove
and shit like that.

This is an incredible
fuckin' city.

You got great coffee too.

But, listen, can we take y'all
back to our city for a moment?

Seattle, can we take y'all
back to Shaolin real quick?

[CHEERING]

WU-TANG CLAN MEMBER: They got
to be ready to get on the boat

though.

WU-TANG CLAN MEMBER: --and
take that ferry ride, yo.

Hey, yo, this shit
is so real, man.

Hey, yo, we're from Staten
Island, New York City.

Y'all ever been there?

Well, we're going to
take you there right now.

Talk to 'em, Chef.

It's a serious
place, a serious place,

so many beautiful people.

But everybody want money.

Everybody need money to survive.

If you need money to survive,
put your hands in the air.

Uh, uh.

If you need money to
survive, put your hand

up in the motherfuckin' air.

Don't be lazy.

Go out there and get yours.

Put your hand in
the motherfuckin' air.

You can get it, trust me.

But we're going to
take y'all back.

One of our favorite songs
that we did across the world,

we did it many a times and y'all
know the record pretty well.

So we're going to need y'all
to sing it from head to toe.

Yo, RZA, how the
motherfuckin' shit go?

Make money, money, money.

Make money, money.

What is it?

Everybody.

Take money, money, money.

Take money, money.

I like that.

Na, na, na, na.

That's the pain right there.

La, la, la, la.

That's the fucking
pain right there.

That part.

Na, na, na,

Ladies and gentlemen.

Seattle.

Let's go.

["C.R.E.A.M." PLAYING]

This is for all
the hustlers, man.

Damn.

Shit is fucking amazing.

Where y'all at?

From the stairs to
the stage, motherfucker.

What is it?

(RAPPING) Cash rules
everything around me,

C.R.E.A.M. Get the money.

CROWD: Dollar,
dollar bill, y'all.

- Come on, y'all.
- Nice.

I grew up on the crime
side, New York Times side.

Staying alive was no jive.

Had secondhands.

So then we moved
to Shaolin land.

A young youth, yo, rocking
the gold tooth, 'Lo goose.

Only way I begin the
G up was drug loot.

And let's start
it like this, son.

Rolling with this one and that
one, pulling out gats for fun.

But it was just a dream
for the teen, was a fiend.

Started smoking woolies at
16 and running up in gates,

doing hits for high stakes,
making my way on fire escapes.

No question, I would
speed for cracks and weed.

CROWD: That combination
made my eyes bleed.

But no question, I would flow
off, try to get the dough off.

Sticking up white
boys on ball courts.

And my life got no better,
same damn 'Lo sweater.

Times is rough and
tough like leather.

Figured out I went the
wrong route, so I got

with Seattle, motherfuckers.

Catching keys from cross-seas,
rolling in MPVS every week.

We made a hundred Gs.

Yo, nigga, respect mine.

Here go the TEC-9.

Yo, move from the gate now.

Cash rules everything around
me, C.R.E.A.M. Get the money.

Dollar, dollar bill, y'all.

Everybody.

Cash rules everything around
me, C.R.E.A.M. Get the money.

CROWD: Dollar
dollar bills, y'all.

Nice.

Cash rules everything around
me, C.R.E.A.M. Get the money.

Get your fucking money, y'all.

One more time.

Cash rules everything around
me, C.R.E.A.M. Get the money.

CROWD: Dollar,
dollar bill, y'all.

Salute.

22 long, hard years,
still struggling.

Survival got me bucking.

I'm alive on arrival.

Peep at the shape of the street.

Stay awake to the ways of the
world, 'cause shit is deep.

A man with the dream, plans
to make cream, which failed.

Went to jail at the age of 15.

Young buck selling
drugs and such.

Never had much.

Trying to get a clutch
at I could not touch.

The court played me short,
now face incarceration.

Pacing.

Going upstate, my destination.

Handcuffed in the back of a bus.

40 of us.

Life as a shorty--

- CROWD: Shouldn't be so rough.
- Nice.

As the world
turned, I learned life

was hell, living in a world
no different from a cell.

Every day I escape from Jakes
giving chase, selling base,

smoking bones.

Though I don't know why
I chose to smoke sess.

Guess that's the time
when I'm not depressed.

But I'm still depressed,
so I ask what's it worth.

Ready to give up so I seek the
Old Earth who explained working

hard helps you maintain,
learn to overcome

your heartaches and pain.

We got stick-up
kids, corrupt cops,

crack rocks, stray shots all
on the block that stays hot.

Leave it up to me while
I be living proof to kick

the truth to my Seattle youth.

Shorty running wild,
smoking sess, drinking beer.

He ain't trying to hear
what I'm kicking in his ear.

Neglected for now, but
yo, it got to be accepted.

That what?

CROWD: Life is hectic.

Cash rules everything around
me, C.R.E.A.M. Get the money.

CROWD: Dollar,
dollar bills, y'all.

Everybody.

Cash rules everything around
me, C.R.E.A.M. Get the money.

What is it?

CROWD: Dollar,
dollar bills, y'all.

Louder.

Cash rules everything around
me, C.R.E.A.M. Get your money.

CROWD: Dollar,
dollar bills, y'all.

Cash rules everything around
me, C.R.E.A.M. Get your money.

CROWD: Dollar,
dollar bills, y'all.

Everybody say Wu-Tang.

Wu.

- CROWD: Tang.
- Wu.

CROWD: Tang.

Wu.

- CROWD: Tang.
- Wu.

CROWD: Tang.

- -is on your brain.

Cash rules everything around
me, C.R.E.A.M. Get the money.

Dollar, dollar bills, y'all.

Cash rules everything around
me, C.R.E.A.M. Get the money.

CROWD: Dollar,
dollar bill, y'all.

Seattle, give yourselves
a round of applause.

That was beautiful.

Get your money.

Get your fucking money.

Give you chills
and shit, you know?

Yeah, yeah.

So since we took
them back to Shaolin,

let's take them a little bit
further back to our first song

we ever put out.

We want to invite the entire
Wu-Tang Clan back on stage.

We want to hear y'all sing
along to this one right here.

This is the song that
got us on the map.

And the title of this song was
true then, and it's true now.

You must always protect
your motherfucking neck.

["PROTECT YA NECK" PLAYING]

Protect it.

Hey.

We're going to need
y'all to sing this shit.

Let's go.

Day ones, right?

Come on.

(RAPPING) Wu-Tang
Clan coming at ya.

Protect ya neck, kid.

Oh, oh.

Watch your step, kid.

The Inspectah Deck.

I smoke on the mic like
Smoking Joe Frazier.

Hell raiser, raising
hell with the flavor.

Terrorize the jam like
troops in Pakistan.

Swinging through your town
like a neighborhood Spider-Man.

Yeah, tick-tock, keep ticking.

I'll get you flipping off
the shit that I'm kicking.

The Lone Ranger,
code red, danger.

Deep in the dark with the
art to rip the charts apart.

The vandal, too hot to handle.

Battle, saying goodbye
like Tevin Campbell.

Roughneck Inspectah
Deck's on the set.

The rebel makes more
noise than heavy metal.

The way I make
the crowd go wild.

Sit back, relax, won't smile.

Rae got it going on, pal.

Call me the rap assassinator.

Rhymes rugged and built
like Schwarzenegger.

And I'ma get mad deep
like a threat and blow up

your project, and then take
all your assets because I came

to shake the frame in
half with the thoughts

that bomb shit like math.

If you want to try to flip,
go flip on the next man

'cause I grab the clips and hit
you with 16 shots, all I got.

Going war with the
melting pot, ah.

It's the Method Man.

For short, Mr. Meth--

CROWD: Moving on your left.

And set it off, get it
off, let it off like a gat.

I'm want to break
full, cock me back.

Small change, they
put shame in the game.

I take aim and blow that
nigga out the frame.

And like Fame, my style
will live forever.

Niggas crossing over like
they don't know no better.

But I do, true.

Can I get Su?

Enough respect due to the 160.

I mean, O. Yo, check out the
flow like the Hudson or PCP

when I'm dusting.

Niggas off 'cause
I'm hot like sauce.

The smoke from the lyrical
blunt, make me-- ah.

Ooh, what, grab these
nuts, get screwed.

And ah, here go
the Shaolin style.

What?

True.

Bad as ooh, baby U to
my crew with the Su.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Come on, baby, baby, come on.

Baby, come on,
baby, baby, come on.

Watch your step.

Protect ya neck.

First thing first, man,
you're fucking with the worst.

I'll be sticking pins in your
head like a fucking nurse.

I'll attack any nigga
who's slack in his mack.

Come fully packed with
a fat rugged sack.

Shame on you when you step
through to the Ol' Dirty

Bastard.

And I'll be damned if I'll
let any man come to my center.

You enter the winter.

Straight up and down,
that shit is packed jam.

You can't slam.

Don't let me get
fool on him, man.

The Ol' Dirty Bastard
is dirty and stinkin'.

Ason Unique rolling with
the night of the creeps.

Niggas be rolling with a
stash, ain't saying cash.

Bite my style, I'll bite
your motherfucking ass.

For crying out loud, my
style is wild, so book me.

Not long is how long
that this rhyme took me.

Ejecting styles from
my lethal weapon,

my pen that rocks
from here to Oregon.

Here's more again.

Catch it like a
psycho flashback.

I love gats.

If rap was a gun, you
wouldn't bust back.

I come with shit in all
types of shapes and sounds.

Where I lounge is
my stomping grounds.

I give order to my niggas
across the water to go snatch

up props all around the border.

And get far like a shooting
star because 'cause who we are

is living the life
of Pablo Escobar.

Point-blank as we
kick the square biz.

There it is.

You're fucking with
pros, and there it goes.

Chill with the feedback,
black, we don't need that.

It's 10 o'clock, ho, where
the fuck is your seed at?

Feeling mad hostile, wearing
Aeropostle, flowing like Christ

when I speak gospel.

I stroll with the
holy robe, then

attack the globe with the
buckus style, the ruckus.

10 times 10 men
committing mass sin.

You turn the other cheek and
I'll break your fucking chin.

We jumped down like
an African drum.

We'll be coming around
the mountain when I come.

Crazy flamboyant for
the rap enjoyment.

My clan increase like
Black unemployment.

Yeah, another one there.

Put your W's up in the air.

W's in the air.

W's in the air,
and say, oh yeah.

CROWD: Oh yeah.

You best protect
your fucking neck.

Love.

[APPLAUSE]

CROWD: Wu-Tang.

Wu-Tang.

DJ GREEN LANTERN: Seattle.

[CHEERING]

I hope y'all having a
good time on the New

York State of Mind Tour.

Nah, that ain't loud enough.

Are you having a good ass
time tonight on the New

York State of Mind Tour?

That's right.

My name is DJ Green Lantern,
and right about now we

about to take a ride
through Queensbridge.

["HATE ME NOW" PLAYING]

Hands up everybody,
front to back.

Let's go.

Let's get it.

(RAPPING) You can hate me
now, but I won't stop now.

Real niggas.

'Cause I can't stop now.

Bravehearts.

You can hate me now,
but I won't stop now.

Yeah, 'cause I can't stop now.

Let them know.

You can hate me now.

Let's go.

You can hate me.

Somebody make some noise.

[CHEERING]

Do it now.

Let's go.

Don't hate me, hate the money
I see, clothes that I buy,

ice that I wear,
flows that I try.

Close your eyes.

Picture me rolling,
Sixes, money folding,

honeys swollen to riches.

Nas get in ya.

Critically acclaimed Pulitzer
Prize winner, best storyteller,

thug narrator, styles greater.

Model dater, big threat
to a lot of these haters.

Commentators ringside
try watching my paper.

Almost a decade,
quite impressive.

Most of the best is in the
essence for the rap shit

that I stand for.

Expanding more to
the big screen,

Bill Gates dreams, but
it seems they want to see

me in jail, state greens.

Want me off the scene
fast, but good things last

like the realist MC still
making some mean cash.

First rapper to bring a platinum
plaque back to my projects.

They still want to hate,
be my guest, I suggest.

Middle fingers up.

Fuck the world.

Do it now.

You can hate me now,
but I can't stop.

But I won't stop now.

'Cause I can't stop.
'Cause I can't stop now.

Let them know.

You can hate me now.

Fuck the haters.

But I won't stop now.

Do it now. 'Cause
I can't stop now.

What's up, y'all?

You can hate me now.

Fuck the world.

Do it now.

I told you, do it now.

If you want to hate me, hate me.

What can I do?

Keep getting money.

Funny, I was just like you.

I used to hustle hard.

Never give up till I made it.

Now you saying that's a clever
nigga, nothing to play with.

Hate on me.

I blew, but I'm the same OG.

["HATE ME NOW" PLAYING]
Yo, they warned me.

When you on top, there's envy.

Took my dawgs out
the hood, but you

doubt on us, saying
we left the hood

but can't get it out of us.

My bad.

Should I step out my shoes?

Give them to you?

Here's the cars and the house.

You can live in that, too.

Criticize when I flow for the
street, hate my dress code.

What you expect, yo?

Nickname Esco, took the
game to its threshold.

Best flow, I bet
the whole US know.

Try to make it like
they the realest.

Who the realest?

Seattle, the realest.

You feel us.

Do you feel that?

Seattle, can you feel that?

Do it now.

You can hate me now,
but I won't stop.

Cause I can't stop.

Because I can't stop now.

Come on.

You can hate me now.

Fuck every hater.

But I won't stop now.

And we all got haters.

Because I can't stop now.

Let them know.

Never let him stop you.

And I love y'all all right now!

[CHEERING]

["GOT UR SELF A GUN" PLAYING]
You got yourself a gun.

Let's go!

Got yourself a gun.

Living in this town
behind enemy lines.

I got mine, I hope y'all--

Got yourself a gun.

You from the
hood, I hope y'all--

Got yourself a gun.

Who want beef now?

Got yourself a gun.

And when I see you,
I'mma take what I want.

They tried to front, hope you--

Got yourself a gun.

They not real, hope y'all--

Got yourself a gun.

Check it out, y'all.

My first album, no
famous guest appearances.

The outcome--

What?

He's crowned the best lyricist.

Many years in this
professional level.

Why would you
question who's better?

- The world is still--
- Mine.

Tattoos real, "God's
Son" across the belly.

Boss of rap, you
saw me in "Belly."

Thoughts like that,
take it back to Africa.

Did it with Biggie.

Me and Pac, soldiers
of the same struggle.

Your lames could
huddle, team's shook,

y'all feel the wrath of a--

Killer.

This is my football field.

Throw a pass from a barrel,
shoulder pads, apparel.

But the QB stand
for Queensbridge.

Every word is like
a sawed-off blast.

They all soft.

I'm the hearse that come
and haul y'all's ass--

In.

This for the
hood by the corner.

Many try, many, come at Nas.

If you want a war,
get it bloody.

Good job, Seattle!

I got mine, hope you--

Got yourself a gun.

America, I hope y'all--

Got yourself a gun.

USA, I hope y'all--

Got yourself a gun.

And when I see you,
I'mma take what I want.

I tried to front, hope you--

Got yourself a gun.

They not real.

Got yourself a gun.

They not real!

What's your name?

I'm the N, the A, to
the S-I-R. If I wasn't--

hey, yo, the kid got a chipped
tooth fixed, hair parted

with a barber's preciseness.

Bravehearted for life,
return of the gunslinger,

son of a blues player.

Who were you, player?

Y'all waiting the true savior.

Puffing the tropical,
cups of the vodka, too.

Papi chu's, throw up,
wake up in the hospital.

Throw up?

Never, I do it through
righteous steps.

Judas thought I was gone.

In light of my death--

They been all happy-go-lucky.

Bunch of sambos call
me "God's son"--

With my pants low.

I don't die slow.

Put them rags up
like Petey Pablo.

This the NASDAQ, though.

In my NASCAR
with the Nas flow.

What can beat that?

Rick, Joe, bring it back
to Seattle, Washington!

Oh!

I got mine, hope y'all--

Got yourself a gun.

You from the hood, I
hope y'all-- what's up?

Got yourself a gun.

Who want beef now?

Got yourself a gun.

And when I see you,
I'mma take what I want.

They try to front, hope y'all--

Got yourself a gun.

They not real!

Got yourself a gun.

They not real.

Hope you got yourself a--

[FIREWORKS]

[CHEERING]

How you feeling tonight?

[CHEERING]

Happy birthday.

Anybody's birthday tonight?

Last night?

Next week?

Libras, where you at?

Oh!

Let's take it back.

Yeah!

Let's take it to 1994!

Who was there?

Who was there?

Let's take it back like hey!

Ho!

Hey!

CROWD: Ho!

Hey!

CROWD: Ho!

Oh!

["IT AIN'T HARD TO TELL"
PLAYING] It ain't hard to tell.

I excel, then prevail.

The mic is contacted,
I attract clientele.

The mic check is life or death,
breathing the sniper's breath.

Exhale the yellow smoke of
Buddha through righteous steps.

Deep like "The Shining,"
sparkle like a diamond.

Sneak a Uzi on the island
army jacket lining.

Hit the Earth like
a comet, invasion.

Nas is like the
Afrocentric Asian.

In my physical,
I'll express, delete

stress, then extend strong.

Drink Moet with Medusa,
give her shotguns in Hell.

Everybody, bring it back!

Hip-hop hooray!

It ain't hard to tell!

Hey!

CROWD: Ho!

Hey!

CROWD: Ho!

Hey!

CROWD: Ho!

Yeah, it ain't hard to tell.

If you ever had any of my
music on cassette tape,

I love you more!

Let's groove!

The Buddha monk's in the
trunk, turn the bass up.

Not stories by Aesop.

Place the loot up,
parties I shoot up.

Nas, I analyze, drop a jew-el,
inhale from the L. School

a fool well.

You feel it like Braille,
it ain't hard to tell.

Kick a skill like
Shaquille holds a bill.

Vocabulary spills,
he's ill, plus Matic.

Freak beat slammin
like Iron Sheik.

Jam like a TEC with correct--

Technique.

To analyze me.

Surprise me.

Can't magnetize me.

Scanning while you're
planning ways to--

Sabotage.

I leave you froze like
heroin in your nose.

Nas will rock well.

CROWD: It ain't hard to tell.

Yeah!

Let's go!

It's time to represent!

Yeah.

It's time to represent.

Seattle, represent--

It's time to represent.

BOTH: Let's go!

Represent, represent!

["REPRESENT" PLAYING] Say what!

CROWD: Represent, represent!

Say what!

CROWD: Represent, represent!

Say what!

CROWD: Represent, represent!

Straight up, shit is real.

And today could be your
last in the jungle.

Get murdered on the humble,
guns'll blast, tumble.

Corners is the hot spot full
of criminals who don't care.

Guzzling beers, we all stare at
the out-of-towners who better

break north before we get the--

Four pounders--

And take their face off.

The streets is real.

And the countless
homicides chasing brothers.

D's on the roof trying
to watch us and knock us.

Killer coppers coming
through in helicopters.

I drink a little vodka,
spark a L and hold a--

The fronters--

Wanna ill ones
and spot runners,

thinking it can't happen
till I drop them and clap

them and leave him done.

Won't even run.

I don't believe in
all that whack shit.

Facts are backwards.

Nas is a rebel
at a street corner,

pulling a TEC out the dresser.

Everybody help me out!

Represent, represent!

Say what?

CROWD: Represent, represent!

Say what?

CROWD: Represent, represent!

Say what?

Represent, represent,
represent, represent!

["SWEET DREAMS" PLAYING]
Oh, street

dreams are made of these.

And shawties push
Bimmers and 300 Es.

A drug dealer's destiny
is reaching a key,

and everybody's
looking for something.

Street Dreams are made of these.

And shorties on their knees
for players with big cheese.

But who am I to disagree?

With everybody
looking for something.

It goes one--

One.

Two--

Two.

One, two, three,
bring it back.

Come on!

Hey!

Now, now, now, now.

When I say "hip",
y'all say "hop."

Hip!

CROWD: Hop!

Hip!

I said when I say
"hip," y'all say "hop."

Hip!
CROWD: Hop!

Up top!

I see you!

Hip!

Let's go!

Up top, I see you!

["NAS IS LIKE" PLAYING] Freedom
or jail, clip's inserted.

Baby's being born same
time a man is murdered.

Beginning and end,
as far as rap go,

it's only natural
I explain plateau

and also what defines my name.

First it was Nasty,
but times have changed.

Ask me now, it's just an artist,
hardcore, my sign's for pain.

Spent time in the
game, my mind on fame.

Saw fiends shoot up,
do lines of cocaine.

So my close friends shot,
flatline, am I sane?

Depends, carry MAC-10s
to practice my aim.

Rooftops, tape CD
covers on trees.

Line the barrel up with the
album cover, the squeeze.

Street scriptures for lost
souls in the crossroad,

to the corner thugs hustle
for cars that cost dough.

To the little ones,
doing it right.

Pushing big cars,
enjoy your life.

It's what you make it.

Suicide, few try to take it.

Belt tied around his
neck in jail cells--

Naked.

Heaven and hell,
rap legend presents

is felt. And of course--

CROWD: "N-A-S" are the
letters that spell--

["THE WORLD IS YOURS" PLAYING]
And it's yours!

Whose world is this?

The world is yours, what?

It's mine, it's mine,
whose world is this?

The world is yours.

It's mine, it's
mine, it's mine.

Whose world is this?

The world is yours.

It's mine, it's mine--

I sip the Dom P, watching
"Gandhi" till I'm charged.

Writing in my book of rhymes,
all the words past the margin.

To hold the mic I'm throbbing,
mechanical movement.

Understandable small
shit murderers move with.

The thief's theme.

Play me at night,
they won't act right.

The fiend of hip-hop
got me stuck--

Like a crack pipe.

The mind activation,
react like I'm

facing time like Pappy Mason.

Pens I'm embracing, wipe
the sweat off my dome,

split the phlegm of the streets.

J's on the beat.

Keep the cipher complete.

Whether cruising in a cab,
a Montero, I can't call it.

The beats make me
falling asleep.

I keep falling, but never
falling six feet deep.

Hey, yo, I'm out for
presidents to represent me!

CROWD: Say what?

Presidents to represent me!

CROWD: Say what?

Dead presidents.

Let's go.

Whose world is this?

The world is yours.

It's your world, Seattle!

Whose world?

The world is-- it's your world!

This world is mine.

It's mine.

Whose world is this?

It's yours.

It's mine, it's
mine, it's mine.

- Whose world is this?
- Yeah.

Yeah.

The world is yours.

It's mine, it's
mine, it's mine.

Whose world is this?

To my man Ill Will--

It's yours.

To my people out
there, God bless.

I trip, we box up crazy.

Aiming guns at all
my baby pictures.

Beef with the house and
police release scriptures

that's maybe--

yet I'm the mild money-getting
style, rolling foul.

Versatile, honey-sticking,
wild golden child.

Dwelling in the rotten
apple, you get tackled

or caught by the devil's lasso.

CROWD: Shit is a hassle.

It's no days for broke
days when selling smoke pays,

while the old folks
pray to Jesús,

soaking their sins in
trays of holy water.

Odds against Nas is slaughter.

The word describing my life to
name my daughter, my strength.

My son will be my resurrection.

Born in correction,
the wrongs that I did

can do the right direction.

How you living?

Large or broke on charge
cards and mediocre?

You flipping coke or?

What you want, soldier?

I thought I told you!

It's yours!

It's mine, it's mine.

Whose world-- the
world is yours.

Can you believe that?

It's mine, it's
mine, it's mine.

Whose world is this?

It's yours.

Do you receive that?

Whose world is this?

The world is yours.

The world is--

CROWD: Yours!

[CHEERS AND APPLAUSE]

Seattle!

How the fuck you feelin'
right now, Seattle?

Let's do it!

Y'all look beautiful.

I love every last one of y'all.

We the shit because we
here 2000-- all of us--

in 2023.

Make some noise for yourself.

I got a lot of
shit I want to say.

This shit would take all night.

Can we do that underground,
dirty, nasty shit?

[CHEERS]

That 90s shit?

Let's go.

[NAS, "MADE YOU LOOK"]

Oh!

Get up everybody!

Let's go!

Bravehearts.

What are you?

CROWD: Bravehearts.

What are we?

CROWD: Bravehearts.

What are we?

CROWD: Bravehearts.

What are you?

CROWD: Bravehearts.

Bravehearts, where you at?

CROWD: Bravehearts.

Up top, where you at?

(RAPPING) Now let's get
it all in perspective.

For all y'all enjoyment, a
song y'all can step with.

Y'all appointed me
to bring rap justice.

But I ain't Five-O,
y'all know it's--

Hennessy with a
whole lot a-- only

describe us as soldiers of--

Stay laced in the
best, well-dressed,

with finesse in a black tee.

Wifey.

A thug girl who fly
and talks so nicely.

Put her in the coupe so she
can feel the nice breeze.

We can ride through
the city, no doubt.

Don't say the car's topless.

Say what?

Say the titties is out.

Newness, here's the anthem
that you hoop with--

Count your loot with.

Push the pool stick
in your new crib.

Same hand you hoop with, swing
around like you're stupid.

King of the town,
we've been that.

You know you click-clack.

Where you, where your mens at?

Do the Smurf, do the
Wop, Baseball bat.

Seattle, bring that
ill hip hop back.

They shootin'!

Let's go!

Big Money, play
'fore your time's up.

Where them gangsters at?

Where my ladies at?

They shootin'!

Hey!

What's up over here?

Gettin' big money play for ya.

Where them gangsters at?

Where my dimes at?

This ain't rappin'.

This is Street Hop.

Now get up off yo' ass
like your seat's hot.

My live thugs lit up the reefer.

Trunk of your car,
got the streetsweeper.

Don't start none, won't be none.

No reason for your
mans to panic.

You don't want to
see no ambulances.

Knock a pimp's drink
down in his pimp cup.

That's the way you
get Timberland'd up.

Oh!

Let the music defuse
all the tension.

Baller convention,
free admission.

Hustlers, dealers,
killers move swift.

Girls get close, you can
feel where the tool's kept.

All my just-coming homies.

Parolees.

Get money, leave the beef alone.

Slowly.

Get out my face.

You people so phony.

Pull out my waste,
the Eagle four-forty.

They shootin!

Nah, made you look.

You a slave to a page in my
rhyme book, getting big money,

playboy, your time's up.

Where my gangstas at?

Where my dimes at?

They shootin'!

If you ain't scared of nothing,
you a Braveheart for life.

And I know y'all brave.

Where we at?

Bravehearts.

What are you?

Bravehearts.

What are we?

Bravehearts.

What are you?

Bravehearts.

[PYRO EXPLOSION]

[CHEERS AND APPLAUSE]

Seattle, y'all are
fucking loud tonight!

Welcome to your life.

We all state of mind because
it's a state of mind.

There's no turning back.

No matter where we from,
we all blood of blood.

Even while--

Kindred souls.

- -we sleep.

Spirits are the same.

It is a mind state thing.

We will find you--

Yeah.

- -acting on your--

One of my favorite
vocalist, Lalah Hathaway--

- -best behavior--

- -singing a song that
just belongs to all of us.

So if you know the
song, sing along.

This part here.

It goes--

Everybody wants
to rule the world.

[CHEERS]

Yes, Seattle,
get your hands up.

- Hands up!
- To the sky!

- To the sky!
- Get the hands up.

Hands up!

Side to side.

Life, I wonder,
will it take us under?

Never!

Imagine smoking
weed in the streets.

Imagine going to court with no--

lifestyle, cruisin'
blue Bahama waters.

No welfare supporters,
conscious of the way

we raise our daughters.

Days are shorter,
nights are colder.

Feeling like life is over.

This snake strike like a cobra.

The world's hot, son
got knocked evidently.

It's elementary they want
us all gone eventually.

Troopin' out of state
for a plate, knowledge.

If coke was cooked without
the garbage, we'd all have the

Top dollar.

Imagine everybody flashing,
fashion designer clothes.

You look good!

People holdin; dough,
no parole, no rubbers.

Imagine law with no undercovers.

Just a thought for the mind.

Everybody in here,
help me out one time.

If I ruled the world.

Imagine that.

Oh!

Say what?

I'd free all my sons.

CROWD: I love 'em,
love 'em, baby.

We love you!

Black diamonds and pearls

Could it be.

If it could be mine.

If I ruled the world.

Up top, I see you!

Living in these
days, inner peace.

Paradise, life relaxing.

Armani Exchange, the
Range, Cash, Lost Tribe.

Free at last.

Brand new cars the
crash then we laugh.

In the iller path.

The Villa house is for the crew.

How we do?

Weed for breakfast, dime
sexes, Benz stretches.

Many years of depression make
me vision a better living.

Type of place to raise kids in.

Open they eyes
history's told foul.

I'm as wise as the old
owl plus the Gold Child.

Seeing things like
I was controlling,

clique rolling,
tricking six digits

on kicks and still holdin'.

Trips to Paris, I'd
civilize every savage.

Just give me one shot, I
turn trife life to lavish.

Political prisoners set free!

Stress free!

No work release, purple
M3s, and jet skis.

Feel the wind breeze
in West Indies.

Let Coretta Scott,
mayor the city,

reverse fiends to Willies.

It sound foul, but every girl
in here will go down-town.

I'd open every cell in
Attica, send 'em to Africa.

If I ruled the world

Imagine that, y'all!

Say what?

I'd free all my sons.

You know what?

CROWD: I love 'em,
love 'em, baby.

I love ya.

Black diamonds and pearls.

Could it be?

If we--

If I ruled the world.

Still living for
today, hey, yeah.

We'll walk right up to
the sun hand-in-hand.

Hand-in-hand!

We'd walk.

Right up to the sun.

Unified.

We won't land.

We'd walk right up to
the sun, hand-in-hand.

I got my man on the
drums right there.

You ready?

- -right up to the sun.

Y'all ready?

Let's walk to the sun!

We'd walk right up to the--

- -sun, hand-in-hand.

Yeah!

We'd walk right up to the sun.

We won't land.

We'd walk right up to the--

- -sun.

Hey!

Hand-in-hand.

We'd walk right up to the sun.

We won't land!

Somebody make some
noise out there!

[CHEERS AND APPLAUSE]

I love y'all!

[CHEERS CONTINUE]

Thank you, babe.

I need your help with
calling one of our brothers

back to the stage.

But you got to put your
chest into this shit,

because he's a scientist.

He's probably mixing
fucking shit back in--

the back.

He got a laboratory back there.

His name is RZA.

[CHEERS]

One of the wisest human beings
walking the fucking Earth.

He should do a meet and greet
so you can just talk to him

so you can leave fucked up--

[CHEERS AND APPLAUSE]

- -by the shit he got to say.

It takes him five
seconds to say some shit.

You walk away like,
what the fuck?

I love him.

So let's do this,
because we all love him.

Let's call him out here.

Let's do it like this.

Hey, yo, RZA, where you at?

[YELLS]

I'm right here, Lord.

People, please welcome
to the stage, the RZA!

[CHEERS AND APPLAUSE]

Nas Escobar!

Love, love, love.

Wow, God.

Yes!

Hey, yo, I gotta say, the
fucking line-up of the music

tonight was fucking banging!

[CHEERS]

That shit had me--

I forgot I was not--

I was a fan, dawg.

I do the same shit,
I'm like, God, I'm on--

I'm on tour with Wu-Tang.

This shit's crazy.

It's a Bamalama.

And the drummer, Haze.

Can we get some light
on Haze up here?

[CHEERS AND APPLAUSE]

Aw, man, y'all.

[LAUGHS] He was
crazy-- those drums.

Love!

RZA, talk to your family, man.

Well, check it out, family.

When Pastor Nose came
out here earlier,

he said that there's only
one thing that we must do.

And he said, we must
have a good time.

How many people is
having a good time?

Make some noise.

[CHEERS AND APPLAUSE]

Respect.

Hip hop has given us all
many years of good times.

[CHEERS AND APPLAUSE]

Thank y'all for that.

The thing is-- the thing is,
y'all, hip hop is a culture

that brought us all together.

Even the two hands
that you had up, right?

You had them separated.

Look what happens when
you bring them together.

Shaolin Kung-Fu
to survive, must now

be taught to more young men.

We must--

OLD MAN (VOICEOVER): Must
expand, get more pupils--

RAPPER: Yeah.

OLD MAN (VOICEOVER): --so that--

RAPPER: Oh, put them up.

Put them up.

RAPPER: Hey, hey.

It's Wu, motherfucker.

Wu!

RAPPER: Wu Tang, motherfucker.

Wu!

It's Wu, motherfucker.

Wu Tang, motherfucker.

It's Wu, motherfucker.

Wu!

Wu Tang, mother fucker.

Hey, Wu Tang.

Wu Tang.

Yeah.

Hey, M-E-T-H-O-D. M-E-T-H-O-D.
M-E-T-H-O-D. M-E-T-H-O-D. Cash

rules everything around me.

CREAM.

Get the money.

Dolla dolla bill, y'all.

Cash rules
everything around me.

CREAM, get the money.

Dolla dolla bill, y'all.

If you you want beef,
then bring the ruckus.

Wu Tang Clan ain't--

Nothing to.

Fuck with.

Wu Tang Clan ain't--

AUDIENCE: Nothing to fuck with.

It's Wu, motherfucker.

Who?

Wu Tang, motherfucker.

Yeah, it's Wu, motherfucker.

Who?
RAPPER: Wu--

AUDIENCE: --Tang, motherfucker.

Come on.

It's Wu, motherfucker.

Who?

RAPPER: Wu Tang, motherfucker.

There it goes.

It's Wu, motherfucker.

Who?

AUDIENCE: Wu Tang, motherfucker.

Yeah.

Wu Tang, motherfucker.

Yeah.

Before we go any further,
we want to thank Amazon

for inviting us here tonight
to this beautiful city

of Seattle and this
motherfucking clean-ass arena.

Cleanest arena we've been
to on the whole tour.

Shit is clean,
this motherfucker.

But listen.

Do y'all still got energy?

[CHEERING]

No, no.

I'm talking about that
'90s hip hop energy.

Up top.

What's going on?

Up top.

Talk to us.

We see y'all out there.

Know what we're
going to do, Chef?

We're going to play a song
off the album "Liquid Swords,"

all right?

And when we say jump, you jump.

When we say jump, you jump.

Turn it up.

[MUSIC PLAYING]

Let's go.

Represent.

Seattle, represent.

Everybody, jump, jump,
jump, jump, jump, jump.

Everybody just--

RAPPER: Jump, jump, jump, jump.

Uh oh, uh oh, uh oh, uh oh.

No, no, no, no.

You're wrong.
You're wrong.

What's up?

I think they can
do better, Lord.

Yeah, it was like--

hold on.

Wait, I got-- I got--

I got to ask y'all a
fucking question, man.

How many people in this
crowd was born in the '70s?

Make some noise.

'70s-- what's good?

Speak.

I understand.

I was born in the '70s, and it's
way past our bedtime ain't it?

We need a nap.

Yeah.

That stopped some
of them from jumping.

How many people in this
crowd was born in the '80s?

Make some noise.

Woo

Transition.

'80s is deep--

Yeah.

'80s babies, your
parents smoke crack.

You're a crack baby.

Crack baby, crack
baby, crack baby.

RAPPER: That kid is
playing some things.

How many people in this
crowd was born in the '90s?

Make some noise.

RAPPER: The '90s posse.

What's up?

'90s crew.

I'll fuck with you, '90s
babies, but y'all don't brush

your tongue.

You don't take
baths, and you don't

wash your feet in the shower.

That's terrible.

Ah shit.

Don't say that fucker's name.

How many people in this
crowd was born in the 2000s?

Make some noise.

2000s.

Beautiful.

I love that.

Now, no disrespect,
but shut the fuck

up when grown folks is talking.

Listen, now, in all
reality, I don't care

if it's the '70s,
80s, '90s, or 2000s,

even the fucking '60s, man.

When we put this shit
on, Seattle, show

me your '90s hip hop energy.

And when we jump, you jump.

When We jump you, jump.

Come on.

Let's go.

Come on, y'all.

Turn it up.

Seattle, ya'll in the ring.

Everybody jump, jump,
jump, jump, jump, jump, jump.

Everybody just jump.

Oh shit.

OK.

RAPPER: Hey, hey, hey.

Somebody say fuck that shit.

Say fuck that shit.

Huh!

Woo!

That was nice.

That was fun.

Yeah.

They'll put y'all
on TV for that one.

But you know what?

Let's play back.

Show them some
real young energy,

and let me see how y'all react
when we do a song like this.

Oh yeah.

Come on, y'all.

Sing this shit.

Let's go.

Oh baby, I like it raw.

Raw.

Oh baby, I like it--
RAPPER: Come on.

- -raw.

RAPPER: Yeah, baby.

Shimmy, shimmy, shimmy.

Give me the mic
so I can take it.

RAPPER: away.

Off on a natural charge.

Bon voyage.

Yeah, from the home of
the Dodgers, Brooklyn squad.

Wu Tang killer bees on a swarm.

Rain on your college-ass disco--

For you to even touch my
skill, you gotta put--

Come on.

Hey, hey, hey.

Chop that down.

Pass it on.

Lyrics get hard quick.

Cement--

To the ground.

Any 52 states, I
get psycho killer.

My producer slam flow is like--

Bam.

Jump on stage.

Then I dip down.

Saying ODB.

ODB.

Say ODB.

Oh baby, I like it raw.

Yeah, baby, I like it raw.

Yeah, baby, I like it--

AUDIENCE: Raw.

- Uh oh, uh oh.
- Baby.

Uh oh.

The jacket came on.

- -girls, all the pretty--

Uh oh.

All the pretty girls.

Get 'em.

Let's go, let's go.

Ey, ey.

Uh.

Oh shit.

- Ah.
- Get him, baby.

- Uh oh.
- Ah.

Come on.

Ah.

Come on.

Hey!

Sing it.

Baby I-- don't you worry.

Say hey.

Sing that shit.

All together.

Hey.

RAPPER: You motherfuckers.

Sing that shit.

Let's go, baby.

Talk first.

You give me your number.

I'll call you up.

You act like a pussy,
don't interrupt.

I ain't got no problem
with you fucking me.

But I got a little problem
with you not fucking me.

Baby, you know I'm
going to take of you.

And you say you got my baby.

I know it ain't true.

Is it a good thing?

No, it's bad, bitch.

For good or worse,
it's making you switch.

So I walk all over
my crib style.

Bitch niggs, put
away your pistols.

Dirty won't be it in this house.

Because bitch, I'll
cripple your style.

Now that you heard my--

Charming voice.

Oh.

If you want to look
good and not be bummy,

girl, you better give me that--

Money.

Hey, hey.

Sing it Baby I--

sing it, girl.

Sing it now.

Let's go.

Hey, Dirty.

Sing that shit.

Sing it.

Say what?

Come on.

Hey!

Baby, I--

Want your money.

Don't you--

Worry.

I said, hey.

Baby--

Louder, louder.

Over here.

Hey!

AUDIENCE: Hey!

Baby, I--

- AUDIENCE: Got your money.
- Don't you--

- Worry.
- Woo!

I said--

OK, OK.

Baby, I--
AUDIENCE: Got your money.

Everybody.

Hey!

What?

Baby, I--

AUDIENCE: Got your money.

Don't you--

AUDIENCE: Worry.

Louder.

One more time.

All together.

Hey!

Yeah.

Baby, I got your money.

AUDIENCE: I like that.

I like that, y'all.

Say what?

AUDIENCE: Baby,
I got your money.

Give it to them.

Give him that money, man.

Ladies and gentlemen.

Man, fuck that, man.

Ladies and gentlemen,
give it up for Old

Dirty Bastard's first born
son, the Young Dirty Bastard.

RAPPER: Just like his father.

Just like his dad.

Good shit, young man.

Good shit.

Yeah.

I'm getting better, baby.

You get--

Well, one thing for sure
is that when you jump,

you jump higher than
all of us, my man.

It's that young energy.

For us, it's a
pleasure to be seeing

a second generation of Wu Tang
Clan share the stage with us,

the YDB.

That's the power of hip hop.

And if you love hip hop
like we love hip hop,

when I say hip hop,
you say one love.

Hip hop.

One love.

Hip hop.

One love.

Hip hop.

One love.

Seattle, put your
Wu Tang W's in the sky

one more time for the night.

Up top, up top.

We see you.

And when I say Wu Tang--

- RAPPER: Everybody now.
- --you say forever.

- Yeah.
- Wu Tang.

Forever.

Wu Tang.

Forever.

RAPPER: Wu Tang.

Forever.

We the Osiris of this shit.

Wu Tang is here
forever, motherfuckers.

All right, this '97.

All right, my niggas
and my niggarrettes.

We're going through
it like this.

I'm a rub your ass
in the moonshine.

RAPPER: Let's take
it back to '79.

I bomb atomically.

Socrates' philosophies
and hypotheses..

I'll be dropping these
mockers. lyrically

perform armed robbery.

Flee with the lottery.

Possibly they spotted me.

Battle-scared shogun,
explosion when my pen hits.

Tremendous.

Ultraviolet shine,
blind forensics.

I inspect view through the
future, see millennium.

Killa Beez sold--

60 platinum.

Shackling the masses
with drastic rap tactics.

Graphic displays.

Melt the like blacksmiths.

Black Wu jackets, Queen
Beez ease the guns in.

Rumble with patrolmen, tear
gas laced the function.

Heads by the score.

Take flight, incite a war.

Thicks hit the floor.

Diehard fans demand more.

Behold the bold soldier.

Control the globe slowly.

Proceed to blow, swinging
swords like Shinobi.

Stomp grounds and pound
footprints in solid rock.

Wu got it locked performing
live on your hottest block.

As the the world,
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 Ghost Rider.

A six pack and 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?

Niggas 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 to take
you where it's coming from.

"Guns of Navarone" tearing
up your battle zone.

Rip through your slums.

I twist darts from the
heart, trued and true.

Loot my voice on the LP.

Martini on the 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 can't rhyme groupies.

So I can squeeze with the
advantage and get wasted.

My deadly notes reign Supreme.

Your thought basic
compared to mine.

Uh.

Domino effect,
arts and crafts.

Talk to them.

Paragraphs contain cyanide.

Take a free ride on my thought.

I got the fashion catalogs
for all y'all to all praise.

The saga continues.

Wu Tang.

Olympic torch flaming.

We burn so sweet.

The thrill of victory,
the agony of defeat.

We crush slow, flaming deluxe
slow for Judgment Day cometh.

Conquer.

It's war.

Allow us to escape hell,
globe spinning bomb.

Pocket full of shells
out the sky, golden arms.

Tunes split the shitty
"Mortal Kombat" sound.

The fake false step make
the blood stain the ground.

A jungle junkie,
vigilante tantrum.

A death kiss catwalk,
squeeze another anthem.

Hold it for ransom.

Tranquilized with anesthesia.

My orchestra, graceful,
music ballerinas.

My music Sicily, rich
California smell.

The ax killer adventure,
paint a picture well.

I sing a song from Sing-Sing,
sipping on ginseng.

Righteous wax chaperon,
rotating ring king.

March of the wooden sldiers.

C-Cypher punks couldn't hold us.

1,000 men rushing in,
not one nigga was sober.

Perpendicular to the saquare,
we stand bold like Flare.

Escape from the dragon's lair.

In particular, my beats travel
like a vortex up your spine

to the top of your
cerebral cortex.

Make you think you bust
a nut from raw sex.

Enter through your
right ventricle,

clog up your bloodstream.

Heart terminal, like
Grand Central Station.

Fat bassline on Novation.

Getting drunk like I'm fucking
dunking five year probation.

Yo, war of the masses.

Outcome disastrous.

Many of the victim
families save the ashes.

A million names on walls,
engraved in plaques.

But those who went back received
penalties for their acts.

Another heart is torn
as close ones mourn.

Those who stray,
niggas get slayed.

Yo, yo, yo.

The track renders helpless,
suffers multiple stab

wounds, making sounds heard.

93 million miles away from.

Came one to
represent the nation.

This is a gathering
of the masses.

Came to pay respect
to my Wu Tang Clan.

As we engage in battle,
crowd now screams in rage.

The high chief Jamel
Irief takes the stage.

Light is provided
through sparks of energy

from the mind, travels in rhyme
from giving sight to the blind.

- The dumb are mostly intrigued--
- By the drum.

Yeah.

Death, only one
can save self from.

This relentless attack
in the track spares none.

- Spares none.
- Spares none.

Yo, yo, yo, fuck that.

Look at all these
crab niggas laid back.

Lamping like them gray and
black Pumas on my man's rack.

Codeine was forced
in your drink.

Had a navy green
salamander fiend.

Bitches overheard your scream.

You two-faces, scum of the
slum, got his whole body numb.

Blowing like Shalamar in '81.

- Sound convincing.
- Come on, Ghost.

$1,000 cork pop convention.

Hands, Sonny Liston.

Gly.

I'll unfasten his wig.

Bad luck.
I humiliate.

Separate the English
from the Dutch.

It's me, Black noble Drew Ali.

Three.

Genovese, sazon
season tehse degrees.

It's Earth, 93 million miles.

The rough turbulence,
the wave burst.

Split the megahertz.

Ay yo.

That's amazing.

Gun in your mouth
talk, verbal foul hawk.

Connect thoughts to
make my man walk.

Swift notarizer, Blue Tang.

All up in the high riser.

New York Yank visor,
word tranquilizer.

A dosage.

Delegate my clan with explosives
while pen blow lines ferocious.

Mediterranean, see y'all.

The number one draft pick.

Tear down the beat, God.

Ah, the swift chancellor.

Flex the white gold tarantula.

Track truck diesel, play
the weed God substantiala.

We max mostly,
undivided, then slid in.

Sickening-- guaranteed made
them jump like Rod Strickland.

Uh.
Uh.

Uh.

Woo!

Uh!

Hip hop.

[BARKING]

Seattle!

[BARKING]

Hey

Yeah.

Seattle, on behalf of DJ
Scratch, DJ Green Lantern,

DJ Law of Mathematics, Hayes the
drummer, the band Stone Mecca,

Talib Kweli, De La Soul, Nas
Escobar, and the Wu Tang Clan,

make some noise!

RAPPER: Love y'all.

Fucking Seattle, baby.

RAPPER: As the God said, this
is history in the making.

Hip hop celebrating 50 years.

Started, Kool DJ Herc
brings out two turntables

and some speakers,
gather people together,

and the culture is born.

But it didn't spread
all around the world,

until somebody picked
up one microphone

and picked their
voice through that.

So right now, Seattle, could
you pull your cell phones out?

Light them up to
represent that one

microphone as the
God Nas Escobar

teach you about this shit.

- Yeah.
- Yeah.

One time.

Yeah.

One time.

Yeah.

One time for the real.

Yeah.

Hey.

Yeah, yeah yeah.

Yo, all I need is
one mic, one beat,

one stage, one person front,
my face on the front page.

Only if I had one gun, one
girl, one crib, one God,

show me how to do
things his son did.

Pure, like a cup of virgin
blood, mixed with 151.

One sip probably made me flip.

See my name in the hieroglyphs.

Mad violence--
that's hood politics.

Acknowledge it.

We been on tricks.

Seeds watch us, grow
up, try to follow us.

Police watch us, roll
up, try knokcing us.

One knee, I ducked.

Could it be my time is up?

As I got up, the cop shot a--

fiend drops his Heineken.

Ricocheting between the
spots I'm hiding it.

Blacking out as I fell back.

Fuck getting hit.

This is my hood.

I'm a rep to the death of it
until everybody come home.

Little brothers is grown.

Hootrats, don't
abortion your womb.

We need more warriors soon.

Sent from the stars,
sun, and the moon.

In this life, police chases,
street sweeper, coopers.

Stick-up kids with no conscious
leaving victims with doctors.

If you really think
you're ready to fly,

this is what Nas is about.

Wu Tang about.

One mic.

One.

On God.

RAPPER: Put them up.

All I needed was one mic.

RAPPER: The most illest
MCs ever right here.

NAS: All we needed was one mic,
two DJs, and most of all you.

One mic to spread our
voice to the whole world.

We love you, Seattle.

Yeah.

We thank you.

Woo!

Love.

RAPPER: We thank you.

RAPPER: Yeah.

RAPPER: How y'all
feeling out there?

Make some noise for
yourself, y'all.

This shit is packed
the fuck out.

That way.

Hip hop shit.

Hey, yo, RZA.

Hold up, RZA.

What happened to peace?

RZA: Everybody put the
peace sign up like this.

Yeah.

Up top, we see you.

Ric Flair!

Woo!

That's for my boy Johnny.
Put the peace on up like this.

On the count of three, we're
all going to say peace.

1, 2, 3.

Peace.

1, 2, 3.

Peace.

Uno, dos, tres.

Peace.

Wu Tang, Nas, De La Soul.

We love y'all.

Peace

Oh.
Oh.

- Hey!
- Yo?

Yo, what's up, my brother?

You know what, brother.

Yeah.

We got a lot of
people out there.

Hell yeah.

Let's keep it rocking.

Let's go.

1, 2, 1, 2, 3, somebody say ho.

AUDIENCE: ho.

Say ho, ho.

AUDIENCE: Ho, ho.

Say, ho, ho, ho.

AUDIENCE: Ho, ho, ho.

Now scream.

[SCREAM]