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MethodMan_Fan |
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[Redman] It's Funk Doc Where da weed at, bitch?! I speed back wist, down to one-way from cops See thas' shit?! Believe thas' shit! Slaughter straight to camcorder, I'm too hot for t.v. Backdraw water, my windpipes attached to Project-ballers You yell: "Turn the heat down!" My voice, divi-di-round-sound, some heard round town And chances are ya'll leavin', round now Wait later, will make Funk page paper Date Raper with juveline 8th Graders Hit the High School at 187 Caesar When I bust ya'll need to back 4 acres Doc ya'll and that's my man JabberJaw The shitlist ready, who next to scratch off? I'm from the underground, my soundlib Platform shoes to bitches, 400 pounds! [Chorus]: Meth & Red GET UP, STAND UP, BACK UP, PUSH UP JUMP UP, ACT UP TO MAKE YOU FEEL IT! Brrrrr...STICK 'EM, HA-HAHA STICK 'EM Brrrrr...STICK 'EM, HA-HAHA STICK 'EM Yo' BLACKOUT, SHOOT OUT, SMOKED OUT MOVE OUT, EVEN KNOCK YA TOOTH OUT, TO MAKE YA'LL FEEL IT! Brrrrr...STICK 'EM, HA-HAHA STICK 'EM Brrrrr...STICK 'EM, HA-HAHA STICK 'EM [Meth] Now I'm the streettalkin', dogwalkin' Approach me with extreme caution, OH NOW YOU FORCIN'? My hand that rock yo' cradle often I'm hot-scorchin', but stone cold like Steve Austin If you smell what Tical cookin', ain't tryin' to see central bookin' So til ya gon' stop lookin', know what you did last summer? So I started hookin', you past shookin' Offer open can of ass-whoopin'? Ain't no tomorrow's in the Method's Little Shop Of Horrors Go ask your father who the father from the (Park)Hill to (Mariners)Harbor You know tha saga, marijuana blunts and Goldschlager With deadly medley, ya'll ain't ready for Shakwon and Reggie Don't even bother, to radio for back-up Alright then, ya man got slapped up extorted for his icin' Streetlife is triflin' *Body over here...! Nigga pull a Tyson and bite a nigga' ear Precisin', slicin' juggerless the cut-crew Ruggeder, Predator, Viking, excetera People's champ, niggaz be takin' off competetors Reachin' for the microphone, relax and light a bone Straight from the Catacombs The Children Of The Corn, that don't got a clue Prepare for desert storm! [Chorus] I scored 1.1 on my SAT And still push a whip with a right and left AC Gorilla, Big Dog, if my name get called I'm behind the brickwall with arsenic Jars Spit poison, got a gun permit draw Gundown at Sundown you keep score! This training-course and ya'll ain't fit On my crew-tombstone put 'We All Ain't Shit' [Meth] Yo', all you gonna be, wanna be When will you learn? Wanna be Doc and Meth? Gotta wait ya turn I spit a .41 Revolver on New Year's Eve With the mic in my hand I mutilate m.c.'s The most slept on since Rip Van Wink My shit stink with every element from A to Zinc So what you think? I'm a blackout on just one drink? You must be crazy! A little off the wall maybe Go get a shrink... [Chorus] |