[Intro: RZA] Yeah, yo, Zig-Zag-Zig-Zig, uh, Zig-Zag-Zig, yeah, uh Oh man, this is very scary, Bza-Bza-Bza-Bobby not the ordinary Hehehehe, you won't hear that old shit Yo, turn the beat up a little bit just so I can tell 'em what I've been Trynna tell 'em You got, oh, man, Joe
[RZA] Like Toney Starks said, we throw yo ass in the Cobra Clutch Your man watch as your whole leg open up Sober up, baby, it's the Bob Digi We throw darts in the air that flow like a frisbee My niggas frostbitten, glass staying crispy Love my wiz, but ya dud nigga miss me I'm bionic, my chronic drowned in Digi juice My fist fast as Bruce, you better call a truce No excuse, the black man must stand up Time to make the Wu sign, throw both of your hands up You see me in a Maserati, Gran Turismo Up in the club, my beat got my sub than Quizno Mama, just the business, I'mma get this Keep the ten digits, fuck that, before I quit this Walk in the prints of a Prince, if it don't make dollars, nigga, then it Don't make sense
[Hook: The Black Keys] If it don't make dollar, then it don't make sense If it don't make dollar, then it don't make sense No, no, yeah, it don't make sense
[Pharoahe Monch] I see dead people when I spit with my sixth sense My sixteen with six sentences that make sense Which means I inflict pain that's intense I got brains backstage, I've been rhyming sick since Sing a song of sixpence, pocket full of rocks And rolls, found your roads, til I die Toss French Francs, Dutch mark to the sky Machines is black, my voice is fried Rock and roll I lose control Fuck the white ones, The Black Keys got so much soul While you come off of the bench If it don't make dollars, then it don't make sense If it don't make dollars, then it don't make sense Don't make dollars, then it don't make sense Dog, it needs to make sense If it don't make dollars, then it don't make sense