Winter Warz
Ghostface Killah Lyrics


Jump to: Overall Meaning ↴

Yes the shit is raw, coming at your door
Start to scream out loud, Wu-Tang's back for more
Yes the hour's four, I told you before
Prepare for mic fights (and plus the cold war)

This rhyme you digest through the RZA console
Ask why I slam nine diagram pole
Raekwon dropped the bomb, Hunchback, Notre Dame
Golden Arms is bronze, buddah palm hit Qu'ran
It blows extreme, mean stream be the theme
Supreme team, America's Cream Team, redeemed
Vidal Sassoon, chrome tones hear the moans of Al Capone
Gun POW to the dome
And split the bone, wig blown off the ledge
By the alleged, full-fledged, sledge RZA edge
One dose of my feroc- handheld trigger cuts
Acapella spitting shell paralyzed when you get touched
And critical mic cords, hanging like umbilical
Cords, dope swords, five star general
Raw be the quote rap style sore throat
Through the fully operational, handheld tote mm-hmm

Yes the shit is raw, coming at your door
Start to scream out loud, Wu-Tang's back for more

A hundred thousand times one, snatch up my styles get done
I hold a title, and here's how my belt was won, check it
Slick majestic, broke mics are left infected
Germs start to spread through your crew through lack of effort
You asked for it, shot up the jams like syringes
My technique alone blows doors straight off the hinges
Masked Avenger, I appear to blow your ear like wind
With a freestyle, sharper than the Indian spear
So sit back and let the king explore
Describe me, the kid's nice and he holds swords
And his name, black attack's the nerve like migraines
With more gains than beggars on trains, livid sharp pains
Poisonous Rebel like Deck, you can't destroy this
You get ambushed, skate, try to avoid this
Side effects of, hot raps and hot tracks
A duffle bag full of guns son, dipped in black
My culture, glides and attacks just like a vulture
Ghostface in Madison Square is on your poster

Yes the shit is raw, coming at your door
Start to scream out loud, Wu-Tang's back for more
Yes the hour's four, I told you before
Prepare for mic fights (and plus the cold war)

Be on the lookout for this mass murderous suspect
That fills more body bags than apartments in projects
And as far as the coroners know
The autopsy show, it was a Shaolin blow
Put on by my family brought to the academy
Of the Wu and learned how to
Fuck up yo' anatomy, steadily, calm and deadly
Spatter-head lyrics I lick through your transmit
MC's submit to the will as I kill your
Juvenile freestyle, civilize the men-tal
Devils worship this like an icon
Bear-hugging mics with the grips of a python

Yes the shit is raw, coming at your door
Start to scream out loud, Wu-Tang's back for more

You heard other raps before but kept waiting
For the Son of Song, I keep dancehalls strong
Beats never worthy of my cause, I prolong
Extravangza, time sits still
No propaganda, be wary of the skill
As I bring forth the music, make love to your eardrum
Dedicated to rap nigga beware of the fearsome
Lebanon Don, Malcolm X beat threat
CD massacre, murder to cassette
I blow the shop up, you ain't seen nothing yet
One man ran, trying to get away from it
Put your bifocal on, watch me a-cometh
Into your chamber like Freddy enter dream
Discombumberate your technique and your scheme
Four course applause, like a black dat to dat
You're stuck on stupid like I'm stuck on the map
Nowhere to go except next show bro
Entertaining motherfuckers can't stop O
In battling, you don't want me to start tattling
All up on the stage cause y'all snakes keep rattling
Bitch, you ain't got nothing on the rich
Every other day my whole dress code switch
So just in case you want to clock me like Sherry
All y'all crab bitches ain't got to worry
Can't get a nigga like Don dime a dozen
Even if I'm smoked out I can't be scoped out
I'm too ill, I represent Park Hill
See my face on the twenty dollar bill
Cash it in, and get ten dollars back
The fat LP with Cappachino on the wax
Pass it in your thing, put valve up to twelve
Put all the other LP's back on the shelf
And smoke a blunt, and dial 9-1-7
1-6-0-4-9-3-11
And you could get long dick Hip Hop affection
I damage any MC who step in my direction
I'm Staten Island's best son fuck what you heard
Niggas still talking that shit is absurd
My repertoire, is U.S.S.R
P.L.O. style got thrown out the car
And ran over, by the Method Man jeep
Divine can't define my style is so deep
Like pussy, my low cut fade stay bushy
Like a porcupine, I part backs like a spine
Gut you like a blunt and reconstruct your design
I know you want to diss me, but I can read your mind
'Cause you weak in the knees, like SWV
Trying to get a title like Wu Killa Bee
Kid change your habit, you know I'm friends with the Abbott
Me and RZA Rob name printed in the tablet
Under vets, we paid our debts for mad years
Hibernate the sound, and now we out like bears




In Born Power, born physically, power speaking
The truth in the song be the pro-black teaching

Overall Meaning

"Winter Warz" by Ghostface Killah is a song that showcases the Wu-Tang Clan's signature sound, blending fierce rhymes with gritty production. The lyrics contain a mix of battle raps, references to martial arts, political commentary, and vivid storytelling.


The opening lines of the song set the tone for the rest of the track, as Ghostface declares that the "shit is raw" and warns listeners to "prepare for mic fights." He mentions the Cold War, suggesting that the tension between the US and the Soviet Union is mirrored in the rap game. The next lines are delivered by RZA, who offers a cryptic explanation of his rap technique, mentioning "nine diagram pole" and "console."


Raekwon takes over for a verse, dropping references to classic literature and martial arts. He compares himself to the Hunchback of Notre Dame and mentions the "buddah palm" technique. Method Man appears on the final verse, delivering a dizzying stream-of-consciousness barrage of rhymes that includes references to everything from Malcolm X to SWV.


Overall, "Winter Warz" is a showcase for the Wu-Tang Clan's lyrical prowess and unique approach to production, blending classic soul samples with hard-hitting beats and a rugged DIY aesthetic.




Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Spirit Music Group
Written by: Robert F. Diggs, Dennis David Coles, Lamont Hawkins, Darryl Robert Hill, Elgin Evander Turner

Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind
To comment on or correct specific content, highlight it

Genre not found
Artist not found
Album not found
Song not found
Most interesting comments from YouTube:

Daniil Lyubych

It's on
[Cappa] Where your sparkle at kid?
Rzarector
Yes the shit is raw, coming at your door
Start to scream out loud, Wu-Tang's back for more
Yes the hour's four, I told you before
Prepare for mic fights (and plus the cold war)
This rhyme you digest through the RZA console
Ask why I slam nine diagram pole
Raekwon dropped the bomb, Hunchback, Norte Dame
Golden Arms is bronze, buddah palm hit Qu'ran
It blows extreme, mean stream be the theme
Supreme team, America's Cream Team, redeemed
Vidal Sassoon, chrome tones hear the moans of Al Capone
Gun POW to the dome
And split the bone, wig blown off the ledge
By the alledged, full-fledged, sledge RZA edge
One dose of my feroc(ious) handheld trigger cuts
Acapella spitting shell paralyzed when you get touched
And critical mic cords, hanging like umbilical
Cords, dope swords, five star general
Raw be the quote rap style sore throat
Through the fully operational, handheld tote mm-hmm
A hundred thousand times one, snatch up my styles get done
I hold a title, and here's how my belt was won, check it
Slick majestic, broke mics are left infected
Germs start to spread through your crew through lack of effort
You asked for it, shot up the jams like syringes
My technique alone blows doors straight off the hinges
Masked Avenger, I appear to blow your ear like wind
With a freestyle, sharper than the Indian spear
So sit back and let the king explore
Describe me, the kid's nice and he holds swords
And his name, black attack's the nerve like migraines
With more gains than beggars on trains, livid sharp pains
Poisonous Rebel like Deck, you can't destroy this
You get ambushed, skate, try to avoid this
Side effects of, hot raps and hot tracks
A duffle bag full of guns son, dipped in black
My culture, glides and attacks just like a vulture
Ghostface in Madison Square is on your poster
Be on the lookout for this mass murderous suspect
That fills more body bags than apartments in projects
And as far as the coroners know
The autopsy show, it was a Shaolin blow
Put on by my family brought to the academy
Of the Wu and learned how to
Fuck up yo' anatomy, steadily, calm and deadly
Spatter-head lyrics I lick through your transmit
MC's submit to the will as I kill your
Juvenile freestyle, civilize the men-tal
Devils worship this like an icon
Bear-hugging mics with the grips of a python
You heard other raps before but kept waiting
For the Son of Song, I keep dancehalls strong
Beats never worthy of my cause, I prolong
Extravangza, time sits still
No propaganda, be wary of the skill
As I bring forth the music, make love to your eardrum
Dedicated to rap nigga beware of the fearsome
Lebanon Don, Malcolm X beat threat
CD massacre, murder to cassette
I blow the shop up, you ain't seen nothing yet
One man ran, trying to get away from it
Put your bifocal on, watch me a-cometh
Into your chamber like Freddy enter dream
Discombumberate your technique and your scheme
Four course applause, like a black dat to dat
You're stuck on stupid like I'm stuck on the map
Nowhere to go except next show bro
Entertaining motherfuckers can't stop O
In battling, you don't want me to start tattling
All up on the stage cause y'all snakes keep rattling
Bitch, you ain't got nothing on the rich
Every other day my whole dress code switch
So just in case you want to clock me like Sherry
All y'all crab bitches ain't got to worry
Can't get a nigga like Don dime a dozen
Even if I'm smoked out I can't be scoped out
I'm too ill, I represent Park Hill
See my face on the twenty dollar bill
Cash it in, and get ten dollars back
The fat LP with Cappachino on the wax
Pass it in your thing, put valve up to twelve
Put all the other LP's back on the shelf
And smoke a blunt, and dial 9-1-7
1-6-0-4-9-3-11
And you could get long dick Hip Hop affection
I damage any MC who step in my direction
I'm Staten Island's best son fuck what you heard
Niggas still talking that shit is absurd
My repertoire, is U.S.S.R
P.L.O. style got thrown out the car
And ran over, by the Method Man jeep
Divine can't define my style is so deep
Like pussy, my low cut fade stay bushy
Like a porcupine, I part backs like a spine
Gut you like a blunt and reconstruct your design
I know you want to diss me, but I can read your mind
Cos you weak in the knees, like SWV
Trying to get a title like Wu Killa Bee
Kid change your habit, you know I'm friends with the Abbott
Me and RZA Rob name printed in the tablet
Under vets, we paid our debts for mad years
Hibernate the sound, and now we out like bears
In Born Power, born physically, power speaking
The truth in the song be the pro-black teaching



이지안

It's on..
[Cappa] Where your sparkle at kid?
Ryzarector..
[Break: Raekwon the Chef]
Yes the sh*t is raw, comin at your door
Start to scream out loud, Wu-Tang's back for more
Yes the hour's four, I told you before
Prepare for mic fights (and plus the cold war)
[Verse One: U-God]
This rhyme you digest through the RZA console
Ask why I slam nine diagram pole
Raekwon dropped the bomb, Hunchback, Norte Dame
Golden Arms is bronze, buddah palm hit Qu'ran
It blows extreme, mean stream be the theme
Supreme team, America's Cream Team, redeemed
Vidal Sassoon, chrome tones hear the moans of Al Capone
Gun POW to the dome
And split the bone, wig blown off the ledge
By the alledged, full-fledged, sledge RZA edge
One dose of my feroc(ious) handheld trigga cuts
Acapella spittin shell paralyzed when you get touched
And critical mic cords, hangin like umbilical
Cords, dope swords, five star general
Raw be the quote rap style sore throat
Through the fully operational, hand held tote mm-hmm
[Break: (first two lines)]
[Verse Two: Ghostface Killah]
More than a thousand times one, snatch up my styles get done
I hold a title, enhanced how my belt was won, check it
Slick majestic, broke mics are left infected
Germs start to spread through your crew, drew like an epic
You asked for it, shot up the jams like syringes
My technique alone blows doors straight off the hinges
Masked Avenger, I appear to blow your ear like wind
With a freestyle, sharper than the Indian spear
So sit back and let the king explore
Describe me, the kid's nice and he holds swords
And his name, black attack's the nerve like migraines
With more games than beggars on trains, livid sharp pains
Poisonous Rebel like Deck, you can't destroy this
You get ambushed, skate, try to avoid this
Side effects of, hot raps and hot tracks
A duffle bag full of guns son, dipped in black
My culture, glides and attacks just like a vulture
Ghostface in Madison Square is on your poster
[Break]
[Verse Three: Masta Killa]
Be on the lookout for this mass murderous suspect
That fills more body bags than apartments in projects
And as far as the coroners know
The autopsy show, it was a Shaolin blow
Put on by my family brought to the academy
of the Wu and learned how to
f**k up yo' anatomy, steadily, calm and deadly
Spatter-head lyrics I lick through your transmit
MC's submit to the will as I kill your
juvenile freestyle, civilize the men-tal
Devils worship this like an icon
Bear-huggin mics with the grips of a python
[Break]
[Verse Four: Cappadonna]
2:28
You heard of the rasp before but kept waitin
for the sun of song, I keep dancehalls strong
Beats never worthy of my cause, I prolong
Extravangza, time sits still
No propoganda, be wary of the skill
As I bring forth the music, make love to your eardrum
Dedicated to rap nigga beware of the fearsome
Lebanon Don, Malcolm X beat threat
CD massacre, murder to cassette
I blow the shop up, you ain't seen nuttin yet
One man ran, tryin to get away from it
Put your bifocal on, watch me a-cometh
into your chamber like Freddy enter dream
Discombumberate your technique and your scheme
Four course applause, like a black dat to dat
You're stuck on stupid like I'm stuck on the map
Nowhere to go except next show bro
Entertainin motherf**kers can't stop O
in battlin, you don't want me to start tattlin
All upon the stage cause y'all snakes keep rattlin
b**ch, you ain't got nothin on the rich
Every other day my whole dress code switch
So just in case you want to clock me like Sherry
All y'all crab b**ches ain't got to worry
Can't get a nigga like Don dime a dozen
Even if I'm smoked out I can't be scoped out
I'm too ill, I represent Park Hill
See my face on the twenty dollar bill
Cash it in, and get ten dollars back
The fat LP with Cappachino on the wax
Pass it in your think, put valve up to twelve
Put all the other LP's back on the shelf
And smoke a blunt, and dial 9-1-7
1-6-0-4-9-3-11
And you could get long dick hip-hop affection
I damage any MC who step in my direction
I'm Staten Island's best son f**k what you heard
Niggaz still talkin that sh*t is absurd
My repotoire, is U.S.S.R.
P.L.O. style got thrown out the car
and ran over, by the Method Man jeep
Divine can't define my style is so deep
like pussy, my low cut fade stay bushy
like a porcupine, I part backs like a spine
Cut you like a blunt and reconstruct your design
I know you want to diss me, but I can read your mind
Cuz you weak in the knees, like SWV
Tryin to get a title like Wu Killa Bee
Kid change your habit, you know I'm friends with the Abbott
Me and RZA ridin name printed in the tablet
under vets, we paid our debts for mad years
Hibernate the sound, and now we out like beers
and blunt power, born physically power speakin
The truth in the song be the pro-black teachin



All comments from YouTube:

David Adaway

True essence of hip hop in its rawest form. No one sounds the same, every style has its own personality, they’re all hungry and pushing each other🎙️🎙️🎙️🎙️💨💨💨💨Wu-Tang 4 eva

nyros23

and this is 96... wild

Liam Rodgers

This track is HARD one of the hardest tracks to come out of the 90s in any genre any country any language any race FULL STOP

Tim

Fuckin facts.

Durte Rebelz

#realheadsknow

hypelike52

I TOTALLY AGREE💥

Gameking123

I love Wu-Tang but you reaching with that statement the hardest song of the 90s is Warfare by Doomsday Production

SessionFooty47

Song randomly popped in my head and figured I’d read the comments but I agree with you though. And Wu Tang was way ahead of many. Them dude’s got busy. 36 chambers in my top 5 for sure

1 More Replies...

Dubswirl30

This cut will always be a big part of not just Wu tang history but hip hop history too. Cappa embodies the energy, the unapologetic-ness, the delivery, the flow, the essence of what hip hop should be.

Ron Tilghman

I knew Capp's verse was nice back then but it sounds even better today. TIMELESS!!!!!

More Comments

More Versions