ayo, its the consigliere, Bonz Malone, broadcasting live from RZA's lab, nahmean. The Lord himself iz up in here -- we politicking like sum shit straight outta Mario Puzo. You got the Don, hisself, the Ruler Zig-Zag, and the Godfather JC- i mean the God's son- Son of God, aww eff it, youknowwhumsayin... anyway, we smokin' stogies like a scene out of Martin Scorcese's home movies: RZA and Christ iz playin chess. every couple a minitz, RZA goes to the boards and adjusts the levels on this nasty beat he got rockin' in the background (violins, plus he chopped up the theme from the Lady n The Tramp) - Jeez is splitting his concentration between the pieces on the board (african figures carved in teak wood) and a papyrus scroll.

hiz cornrowed head starts noddin' to the track, he squints his eyes, and starts to spit:

...makin' moves like chessmen/ from bethlehem/ to jerusalem/
cast the devil into swine/ change my mind/ turn him loose again/
on doubtin cats/ i'm spoutin facts/ while he's bamboozlin' em/
u-baby emcees? pleez/ i rolled trees with methuselah-an-'em/
so my steez be fully formed/ word bond/ i'm in the news again/ got the juice again/ bruvvas jock/ but shit i rock be confusin nem/
rockin 'LO robes/ but only if my crew be boostin them/
then forgive they sin/ cuz when i say the Word they born again/


RZA: that's that sh*t right there, God! "u-baby emcees..." haaaaaa. feelin that. but i woulda said "doo-doo-head" right there, but that's me.

*Ghostface walks in the room*

Ghost: yo, Jeez, Jeez, Jeez..."how are YOU DOING??" *blaaaaahhhhh** *laughing at own joke*

JC: starks! *gives pound*, what up you baloney head, oscar meyer yellow doo doo mustard wally's rockin...

RZA: *laughing, pulling on spliff* God got jokes.

Bonz: he like Lou Carneseca up in here.

RZA/JC/Ghost: ??

Bonz: ion't know, just sum italian sh*t, nahmean, you know how i get down

Ghost: Lord. Lord. you really should let me lace them sandals for you, ak

JC: they don't have laces, they sandals--

Ghost: stop playin, let me hook 'em up. flavor 'em. damn, what you did to your hair chief? i'm likin that. straight ziti.

JC: ??

Ghost: hmm?

JC: ziti?

Ghost: oh, my bad, i meant, PENNE PASTA, you noodle haid rasta

JC: aaaah, i wuz bout to say, ziti is like shells or some sh*t

Bonz: Jeez, tell me about Rome, yo, did they have the cosa nostra back in the day

JC: *looking at Bonz like he's crazy* WTF?? they kilt me, dun, you know i don't like talkin' about that

Bonz: my bad.

Bonz: so lets speak on this project

RZA: *spraying saliva* yo, we gonna re-christen Christ, baptize him as part of the Wu, you know what i'm saying. release a 'EP some time next year under the pseudonymn "Masta Teacha".

JC: that's gonna be my bob digi -- that's gonna be that ill joint where i just say whatever, change my style up a little

Ghost: an pull cards, build on the joint where you dis Kurt Franklin

RZA/JC *laughing, respond in unison*: naaaah, heads ain't ready to hear that yet

Ghost: let's talk about *stops, looks confused* ayo, which one of y'all f*cks drank the last of the Remy?? If you don't bring me some muhf*kn cognac, i'll KILL you???!!! *to know one in particular*

JC: *touches empty kool aid pitcher which miraculously fills to the brim with Henny* oh y'all of little faith! *cracks up laughing*

Ghost: thats why you my booooy!

RZA: um, this bag of trees is gettin kinda light, cuzzin, you mind touchin the ziploc

JC: *sighs, touches bag*

JC: *moves Queen diagonally across board, takes rook*

JC: checkmate

RZA: *sucks teeth*. that's alright. i'm gonna get me one of them big ass computers -- run a coax cable from the modem of that shit, up my assh*le and plug it into my spine. put the battery in my back. then we'll see who checkin what...

Bonz: yall got any spaghetti? lasagna?






peace & blessings,

x.