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MethodMan_Fan |
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Intro: RZA (singing by Blue Raspberry) *bees buzzing* *man screaming in torture* This is... (Mr. Sandman bring me a good dream) Serious, the craziest ... d-da, (Mr. Sandman bring me a good dream) day-da Danger, dangerous... style Verse One: RZA Lyrical shots from the glock bust bullet holes on the chops, I want the number one spot With the science, of a giant New York defiant, brutal like domestic violence Silence of the Lambs, o-ccured when I slammed in Foes grab their chairs, to be mad as Ralph Cramden Others come with shit, as silly as Art Carney But my Tetley triplizes, more kids than Barney Never need for stress there's three bags of sess a damn I rest, playing chess, yes My thoughts be sneaky like a crook from Brooklyn When you ain't lookin, I take the queen, with the rook then I get vexed, layin phat trax on Ampex Morphous God, gettin drunk, off a Triple X Violent time, I got more love than valentines The violent mind, I blast with a silent nine Verse Two: Inspector Deck My hazardous thoughts to cut the mic's life support short Brains get stained like tablecloths when I let off Powerful, poetry pushed past the point of no return Leavin mics with third-degree burns Let me at 'em, I cramp your style like a spasm Track em through the mud then I bag em We're screaming hardcore, hip-hop drips out my balls and I be raw, for four score plus seven more I strike like a bowling ball, holding y'all hostage like hail, electrifying the third rail Peep the smash on paragraphs of ruckus Wu-Tang (Clan ain't nuttin ta fuck wit) Verse Three: Method Man Hot time, summer in the city My people represent, get busy The heat-seeker, on a mission from hell's kitchen I gets in where I fits in for head-touchin, listen Enemy, is the industry got me flippin I don't give a fuck tell that bitch and a nigga I'm killin, snipin, catchin murder cases Desert Storm-in, I be searchin for oasis As I run a mile with a racist Pullin, swords, hit the Billboard with a bullet Peace to the number seven Everybody else get the fo'-nine-three-eleven (Mr. Sandman bring me a good dream) I don't know what's going on if you can take us there... Verse Four: Street Thug Yo, watch me bang the headpiece there's no survival My flow lights up the block like a homicidal murder, underground beef for the burger P.L.O., criminal thoughts you never heard of I switch, the city never sleeps, life's a bitch I shit, runnin through bitches like Emmitt Smith Caution, niggaz best to be careful crossin the street, before they end up layin in a coffin Don't sleep, niggaz tend to forget, however Peep this -- my nigga Case lives forever Verse Five: Carlton Fisk What evil lurks in the heart of men? It be the shadow, street-life, flowin again I had a plot, scheme, I knew for sure Only one kid would knock the hinges off the door The jerk tried to jet, Sabrina at his neck Thirteen pounds on the table plus a tec Just when I said, "Where the fuck's the cream?" Another jerk came out the kitchen with the M-16 He tried to cock it, blast these shots like, rockets Crushed his collarbone, ripped his arm out the socket My move for the table was swift, I got my hostage (The nigga tried to stab you God!) but I dodged it Niggaz said, "Carlton youse a ill motherfucker" Cause I made it look like they both killed each other And I'm out (Mr. Sandman bring me a good dream) (Mr. Sandman bring me a good dream) |