Text: The Genius Gza. Gold.

Aiyyo shorty, yo that's my word
Oh, y'all smellin', y'all piss now y'all think y'all gold
Yo anybody get caught playin'
Over here, I'm returnin' em

That's my word that they be blasted
Anything from two-twenty to one-forty, that's mine
Y'all need to step the fuck off
Y'all niggaz ain't crazy for real

Yo, the fiends ain't comin' fast enough
There is no cut that's pure enough
I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload
Product must be sold to you

I'm deep down in the back streets in the heart of Medina
About to set off somethin' more deep than a misdemeanor
Under the subway, waitin' for the train to make noise
So I can blast a nigga and his boys for what

He pushed up on the block and made the dope sales drop
Like the crashin' of Dow Jones stock
I had to connect to cross seals to catch more mil's
Than ho-bitches got birth control pills

I'm in the park, settin' up a deal over blunt fire
Bum niggaz sleepin' on the bench, they had em wired
Peeped my convo, the address of my condo
And how I changed a nigga name to John Doe

And while we set up camp, we got vamp
Put the stake through his heart, I ripped his fuckin' fangs apart
Snake got smoked on the set like Brandon Lee
Blown out the frame like Pan Am flight 103

He got swung on, his lungs was torn
The kingpin just castled with his rook and lost a pawn
A regular on the block that played look-out
For playin' predator with a glock, he should have took out

No neighborhood is rough enough
There is no clip that's full enough
I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload
Product must be sold to you, yo

Fiends ain't comin' fast enough
There is no cut that's pure enough
I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload
Product must be sold to you

It's mandatory that I supply all my troops with mega firearms
Big apes and spread em out like crops on a farm
To get cream, sometimes they repaint the scene
Like the last episode on gates and other niggaz

Plant bombs 'til the smoke from the blast becomes thick
And flows through all they knew, he's gun sick
His glock clicks, like high-heeled shoes on parquay floors
Mad sick, stand on hills and invade wars

Filthy foul, shovelin' dirt, he's out to hurt
For instance, chop off hands, attack worth
His idols would lock down airports and extort
Some import, catchin' ten percent of what the fiends snort

Up in the ski resorts, up in hills
They move keys and had skis makin' drops on snowmobiles
The plan was to expand, catch seven figures, release triggers
And live large and bigger than my nigga

Who promised his moms a mansion with mad room
She died and still put a hundred grand in her tomb
Open wounds, he hid behind closed doors
And still organized his crime and drug wars

Fiends ain't comin' fast enough
There is no cut that's full enough
I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload
Product must be sold to you

No neighborhood is rough enough
There is no clips that's full enough
I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload
Product must be sold to you

The peers that come is tight enough
There is no niggaz that's fuckin' up
I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload
Product must be sold to you