| Disc 1 | ||||||
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| 1. |
| 0:16 | 
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| 2. |
| 4:05 |
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| 3. |
| 3:51 |
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| 4. |
| 4:00 |
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| 5. |
| 3:36 |
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| 6. |
| 0:24 |
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| 7. |
| 4:35 |
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| 8. |
| 3:28 |
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| 9. |
| 2:55 | 
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(feat. Size/7)
[Intro: Streetlife (Size/7)] Yeeeeeaah! Yeah Ain't where you from (it's where you at) You got the blunt (I got the Mac) You got the clip (I got the gat) You got the {*click, click*} You got the clip (I got the gat) I got my front (I gotcha back) It's like.. it's like that It's like that - Yeah.. It's like that - Yeah, yeah [Streetlife] Shaolin What!?! Blood, God and monster truck Come through, splash mud on ya three-piece tux Niggas act bulletproof like they can't get touched Don't make me hop out the sunroof and start hittin you up I'm outta control when the dough's low, rob and tote Never vacated a hoe, bomb with cons and pros I might snatch ya jewels, pawn ya gold Call P.O. and be like - FUCK PAROLE! Y'all have got to go and became a mould Watch me drop and load, FIRE IN THE HOLE! Here to change the game, started sayin names When ya ass get shot, the cops know who the blame You watch too much movies, wanna be all talk and Kane 2Pac, everybody wanna act the same Feel my pain, rap niggas dyin for fame Feel my pain, rap niggas is dyin for fame [Chorus: Streetlife (Size/7)] (You Wanna Rap?) Who the fuck wanna be an MC? (Tote the Mac?) Who the fuck wanna be an MC? (Lounge in the back?) Who the fuck wanna be an MC? (Platinum plaques?) Who the fuck wanna be an MC? [Streetlife] Most of y'all rap cats is weak, talk is cheap Check my rap sheet, concrete, strictly Street I put in work, overtime, I build with sleek Hail, rain, sleet, I walks the beat Fucks, M.O. - no justice, no piece Fuck the judge, for feedin my thugs to the beast I know the ledge thats why I keeps one in the head Make one false move, fill ya body with lead I'm true to the game, stay true to my name Off the chain? Quick to put two in ya brain I'm from the Hill, where niggas shoot to kill Test my skill, nigga I wish you will Don't front for me, give niggas lumps in three I beat you down in front ya mom, wife and seed Call ya monks, I'm out to call ya bluff You ain't enough, word up, you straight ass and butt Shaolin What!?! [Chorus: Streetlife (Size/7)] Who the fuck wanna be an MC? (You Wanna Rap?) Who the fuck wanna be an MC? (Tote the Mac?) Who the fuck wanna be an MC? (Lounge in the back?) Who the fuck wanna be an MC? (Platinum plaques?) Who the fuck wanna be an MC? (Stretch Caddilac?) Who the fuck wanna be an MC? (Blow ya stack?) Who the fuck wanna be an MC? (Flip ya hat?) Who the fuck wanna be an MC? (Pimp like The Mack?) |
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| 10. |
| 2:33 |
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As mighty a man you've ever seen spitting amphetamine
To all those congested, my job raw never clean A toast to the uncontested, murderer I mark your mistake as soon as you're rested, I heard of ya Unattended for your double breasted, bulletproof vest kid Time is money well invested, burning your press kit Ya HEARD me, chic-ow, bless it and pass it leftwards Never protested, the living proof manifested Winkled your face, you better press it, menage-a-trois Put fist in thought, care to test it? If you dare I swear Motionless, I throw a stare in the eyes of uncommon wise soldier Rise like Nike, shares growing older, snowball effect to snow boulder Show you love nigga, I'm iceberg with cold shoulder No time for your manic, hazy rap attack partner Future darker than permanent black... marker I part you from existence on solid ground Only twelve inch but long distance, that's all I found Is we hell or is we heaven bound? I bomb the target without a sound Ain't nobody left around to hear it Sipping fine wine and spirits on summer days By the South Pacific, cheddar taste better when specific Cheddar look better when explicit Cheddar get better when statistics rise like mama biscuits All 'n all, I'm having fun with gun 'Cause world gave me gun, detonate the shells with my tongue I'm young plus I'm well hung Threat to intellect, also got your prize possession sprung I ride the fine line between yours and mine, check the design Bre-X cats wondering how rhyme turn sublime Peep my shines coming from behind I'm high beaming in your rear view Get out the left lane before I steer through Ain't even trying to hear you It was important 'til you thought I feared you Naw, loosen your bra bitch Never rest until I'm considered, the high exalted Even then I'll still be bitter, sipping on malted Through the speech, now it's time to walk it This potent poet, who only spit it if he know it Prefer to show it to the hardest of hip hop artist If you a baby making baby, finish what you started and be a MAN God damn, resort to plan B sucking on candy Far from delicate procedure, no time for leisure The fine line between yours and mine, freak the design Bre-X cats wondering how rhyme turn sublime Peep my shines coming from behind I'm high beaming in your rear view, CRASH I stop at nothing, my blood stream pumping nothing but utter destruction Towards cats I describe in this rap production Suffering from mal concussions, you head bangers catching repercussion First impression had you lustin' Now the name Saukrates ringing more than bells Double X-L quote me well, bringing the future Double X-L quote me well, bringing the future You want to poise for the portrait, here let me shoot you |
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| 11. |
| 3:57 |
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Fred: Who can be the boss? / Look up to the cross
Stranded in the land of the lost / Standin up, I'm sideways I'm blazin' up the path / Runnin on the highways of rap Choked up by the smoke and the charcoal / Lava stamps and brands me like a barcode I'm Dashin all the meteor strikes / Keep the media dykes As re-enforcements for the fight / And that alone with keep John Ghotti on the phone Tangled in his own I got the bees on the track Where the fuck you at? / (Method Man - Tical) Let me hear you pigeons run your mouth now / (Method Man - Shut the fuck up!) I'm pluggin in them social skills / That keep my total bills over a million The last time I checked it / Thank God I'm blessed with the mind that I wreck it Wait until the second round, I'll knock him out Method Man: They call me big John stud My middle name mud / Dirty water flow / Too much for you thugs That can't stand the flood / What up doc? / Hold big gun like Elmer Fudd The sure shot / Mr. Meth I'm unplugged / Learn Temperature's too hot for sunblock / Burn Playin with minds can get you state time Lock behind twelve bars from a great mind Killa bees in the club when there's ladybug Brought a sword to tha dance floor to cut a rug Love is love all day 'til they both slug And take another life in cold blood Can't feel me? / Cause it's your blood / Murder is tremendous Crime is endless / Same shit different day / Father forgive us They know not what they do / Our praises do / I'm big like easy, ya bigbamboo *Method Man: What's that, I didn't hear you? Shut the fuck up! / Come on a little louder Shut the fuck up! / Everybody N 2 Gether now Shut the fuck up! / What? What? Method Man: Headstrong, deadcon, dead by dawn Deadweight they dead wrong / Let's get it on / Twelve rounds of throwdown Who hold crown? / Protect land with both pound Limp Bizkit / Get around like merry-go / What's the scenario? Comin' through your stereo / Why risk it Lifestyles of the prolific and gifted / Eight essential vitamins and minerals Delicious / Word on the street is / They bit my thesis Knocked out their front teethes / Tryin to taste mine Actin like they heard through the grapevine Dope fiendin for the baseline / To provide rhyme Pharmaceuticals / Hard as nails to the cubicle Where you find that monster / She beautiful Wu-Tang and Limp Bizkit / Roll on the check / Kick a hole in the speaker / Pull the plug and inject Fred: Mic check So what's it all about? / Where we gonna run? Maybe we can meet up on the sun / Discretion is advised For the blood of virgin eyes / Limpin on the track with Method So get the sunblock / You get your one shot Until you dissolve / I revolve around everything you got From outta nowhere prepare / You'll be blinded by the glare I told you not to stare / Now you're turned into stone Without a microphone / But don't you forget you're in the zone (Method Man - So shut the fuck up!) / And take that shit back Cause all your shit's whack / (Method Man - (Doodoo is doodoo) When it's way down like that / Burnin up your brain like a piston So all those who didn't listen / Never even knew what they were missin And never even knew that the sky was fallin down Wu-Tang Clan for the crown * repeat Method Man: It was over your head all day every day S-I-N-Y / 1-0-3-0-4 / Wu-Tang, Killa Bees, and the Limp B-I-Z-K-I-T / Gotta know the time / Gotta know to rhyme It ain't easy bein greezy / In a world of cleanliness and you know all that other madness We gone / Peace Limp Bizkit, Method Man, rock the house y'all, bring it on Hey wait up, where you guys going? You're not recording are you? I'm all alone I can't do this / Feel it / You guys feel it out there? Check your head if you feel it / Hey, hey, hey Every day is brigther than the next day, at least that's what you think |
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| 12. |
| 4:38 |
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[DMX]
Uhh.. UH! .. WHOO! Chorus: DMX Y'all gon' make me lose my mind up in HERE, up in here Y'all gon' make me go all out up in here, up in here Y'all gon' make me act a FOOL up in HERE, up in here Y'all gon' make me lose my cool up in here, up in here [DMX] If I gotsta bring it to you cowards then it's gonna be quick, aight All your mens up in the jail before, suck my dick and all them other cats you run with, get done with, dumb quick How the fuck you gonna cross the dog with some bum shit? Aight There go the gun click, nine one one shit All over some dumb shit, ain't that some shit Y'all niggaz remind me of a strip club, cause everytime you come around, it's like (what) I just gotta get my dick sucked And I don't know who the fuck you think you talkin to but I'm not him, aight slim? So watch what you do Or you gon' find yourself, buried next to someone else and we all thought you loved yourself But that couldn't have been the issue, or maybe they just sayin that, now cause they miss you Shit a nigga tried to diss you That's why you layin on your back, lookin at the roof of the church Preacher tellin the truth and it hurts Chorus [DMX] Off the chain I leave niggaz soft in the brain cause niggaz still want the fame, off the name First of all, you ain't rapped long enough to be fuckin with me and you, you ain't strong enough So whatever it is you puffin on that got you think that you Superman I got the Kryptonite, should I smack him with my dick and the mic? Y'all niggaz is characters, not even good actors What's gon' be the outcome? Hmm, let's add up all the factors You wack, you're twisted, your girl's a hoe You're broke, the kid ain't yours, and e'rybody know Your old man say you stupid, you be like, "So? I love my baby mother, I never let her go" I'm tired of weak ass niggaz whinin over puss that don't belong to them, fuck is wrong with them? They fuck it up for real niggaz like my mans and them who get it on on the strength of the hands with them, MAN Chorus [DMX] I bring down rains so heavy it curse the head No more talkin - put him in the dirt instead You keep walin - lest you tryin to end up red Cause if I end up fed, y'all end up dead Cause youse a soft type nigga Fake up North type nigga Puss like a soft white nigga Dog is a dog, blood's thicker than water We done been through the mud and we quicker to slaughter The bigger the order, the more guns we brought out We run up in there, e'rybody come out, don't nobody run out Sun in to sun out, I'ma keep the gun out Nigga runnin his mouth? I'ma blow his lung out Listen, yo' ass is about to be missin You know who gon' find you? (Who?) Some old man fishin Grandma wishin your soul's at rest but it's hard to digest with the size of the hole in your chest Chorus [DMX] Hold up! ERRRRRRRR! One.. two.. meet me outside meet me outside, meet me outside All my Ruff Ry-DERS gon' meet me outside meet me outside, meet me outside All my big ball-ERS gon' meet me outside meet me outside, meet me outside All my fly lad-IES gon' meet me outside meet me outside, meet me outside All my street street peoples meet me outside meet me outside, outside motherfucker X is got y'all bouncin again Bouncin again, bounce-bouncin again Dark Man X got ya bouncin again Bouncin again, bounce-bouncin again Swizz Beatz got y'all bouncin again Bouncin again, bounce-bouncin again (Swizz Beatz) Ruff Ryders got y'all bouncin again (DMX) Bouncin again, bounce-bouncin again Dark Man keep you bouncin again Bouncin again, bounce-bouncin again Dark Man keep you bouncin again Bouncin again, bounce-bouncin again All my streets they bouncin again Bouncin again, we're bouncin again Swizz Swizz Beatz we bouncin again Bouncin again and we bouncin again Double R keep it comin, ain't nuttin y'all Ain't nuttin y'all can do, now.. {*BOOM*} |
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| 13. |
| 4:37 |
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Ludacris Yeah Yeah Yeah Yeah give it to me now, give it to me now give it to me now, give it to me now Shawnna Yeah Yeah Yeah Yeah give it to me now, give it to me now give it to me now, give it to me now Ludacris & Shawnna ( 2x) I wanna li li li lick you from your head to your toes and I wanna move from the bed down to the down to the to the floor I wanna ah ah you make it so good I don't wanna leave but I got to kn kn kn know wh what's your fan-ta-ta-sy Ludacris I wanna get you in the Georgia Dome on the fifty yard line while the Dirty Birds kick for t'ree And if you like in the club we can do it in the DJ booth or in the back of the V.I.P. Whipped cream with cherries and strawberries on top Lick it don't stop, keep the door locked while the boat rock We go-bots and robots so they gotta wait til the show stop or how 'bout on the beach with black sand lick up your thigh then call me the Pac Man Table top or just give me a lap dance The Rock to the Park to the Point to the Flatlands That man Ludacris (woo) in the public bathroom or in back of a classroom how ever you want it lover lover gonna tap that ass soon see I cast 'em and I past 'em get a tight grip and I grasp 'em I flash 'em and out last 'em and if ain't good then I trash 'em while you stash 'em I'll let 'em free and the tell me what they fantasy like up on the roof roof tell yo boyfriend not to be mad at me Ludacris & Shawnna ( 2x) I wanna li li li lick you from your head to your toes and I wanna move from the bed down to the down to the to the floor I wanna ah ah you make it so good I don't wanna leave but I got to kn kn kn know wh what's your fan-ta-ta-sy Ludacris I wanna get you in the bath tub with the candle lit you give it up till they go out or we can do it on stage of the Ludacris concert cause you know I got sold out or red carpet dick could just roll out go 'head and scream you can't hold out we can do it in the pouring rain runnin the train when it's hot or cold out how 'bout in the library on top of books but you can't be too loud you wanna make a brother beg for it give me TLC 'cause you know I be too proud we can do it in the white house tryna make them turn the lights out champaign with my campaign let me do the damn thing what's my name, what's my name, what's my name a sauna, jacuzzi in the back row at the movie You can stratch my back and rule me You can push me or just pull me on hay in middle of the barn (woo) rose pedals on the silk sheets uh eating fresh fruits sweep yo woman right off her feet Ludacris & Shawnna ( 2x) I wanna li li li lick you from your head to your toes and I wanna move from the bed down to the down to the to the floor I wanna ah ah you make it so good I don't wanna leave but I got to kn kn kn know wh what's your fan-ta-ta-sy Ludacris I wanna get you in the back seat windows up that's the way you like to fuck, clogged up fog alert Rip the pants and rip the shirt, rough sex make it hurt in the garden all in the dirt Roll around Georgia Brown that's the way I like it twerk Legs jerk, overworked, underpaid but don't be afraid In the sun or up in the shade on the top of my escalade Maybe your girl and my friend can trade Tag team off the rope, on the ocean or in the boat Factories or on hundred spoke what 'bout in the candy sto' that chocolate chocolate make it melt whips and chains, handcuffs, smack a little bootie up with my belt scream help play my game dracula man I'll get my fangs horse back I'll get my reigns School teacher let me get my grades ( 4x) |
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| 14. |
| 2:18 |
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Oh my god...Oh my god !!!! ah ah ah aowww!!!
[Verse One: Method Man] Microphone checka, swingin sword lecture closin down the sectar supreme neck protector Bet I won em kid Mr. Metha warmin pot about to blow his lid from the pressure, too hot for TV but cheesy, Too many wanna be hard be easy, is all in together going all not together it don't take much to please me Still homes are never satisfy like the stones we don't condome bitin in the sellin crossbones protectin what am writin don't clash with the Titan who blast with a liscence to kill rap presitence C'mon, in the zone with ya nigga from the Group Home TICAL!!(Fuck your lifestyle!!) (Blew wind)...put your lights out got the shit the crackin got you fienin with your pipes out time for some action, surfin the avenue mad at you, where I used to battle crews back when Antoinette had that attitude Cover me I'm going in, walls closin in got us bustin off these pistols my niggas got issues...again, same song armed with the mega bomb Blow you out the frame and I'm gone. [Verse Two: Redman] I was going to Buck-we-romes, cellular phones Doc-Meth back in the flesh, blood and bone don't condone Spent bank loans and homegrown suckers break like Turbo in no zone, when I, grab the broom moon-walk platoon hawk my goons spark leave you in a blue lagoon lost (true) three nines and a glove with masu di die in the car right behind on the boss Haters don't touch, weigh us both up now my neighbor doped up got the cable hooked up. All channels lift my shirt all Mammal you ship off keys and we ship Grand Pianos. sawed off shotgun hand on the pump, sippin on a forty smokin on a blunt bust my gun and Red and Meth gettin jumped La la la la, la la la laaaaa yeah c'mon, Red and Meth gettin jumped La la la la, la la la laaaaaa |
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| 15. |
| 0:14 |
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| 16. |
| 3:06 |
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Basically, can't fuck with me
I came to bring the pain hardcore from the brain Let's go inside my astral plane Find out my mental's based on instrumental Records hey, so I can write monumental Methods, I'm not the king But niggaz is decaf I stick 'em for the cream Check it, just how deep can shit get Deep as the abyss and brothers is mad fish accept it In your cross color, clothes you've crossed over Then got totally krossed out and Kris Kross Who da boss? Niggaz get tossed to the side And I'm the dark side of the force Of course it's the Method Man from the Wu-Tang Clan I be hectic and comin' for the head piece protect it Fuck it, two tears in a bucket, niggaz want the ruckus Bustin' at me brush, now bust it Styles, I gets buck wild Method Man on some shit, pullin' niggaz files I'm sick, insane, crazy, drivin' Miss Daisy Out her fuckin' mind now I got Martin Swayze Is it real son, is it really real son? Let me know it's real son, if it's really real Something I could feel son, load it up and kill one Want it raw deal son, if it's really real And when I was a lil' stereo (Stereo) I listened to some champion (Champion) I always wondered (Wondered) Will now I be the numba one? (Tical! Hahaha) Now you listen to de gargon (Gargon!) And de gargon summary And any man dat come test me (Test me) Me gwanna lick out dem brains (It's like that) Brothers want to hang with the Meth bring the rope The only way you hang is by the neck nigga poke Off the set comin' to your projects Take it as a threat, better yet it's a promise Comin' from a vet on some old Vietnam shit Nigga you can bet your bottom dollar hey I bomb shit And it's gonna get even worse word to God It's the Wu comin' through sickin' niggaz for they garments Movin' on your left, southpaw 'em it's the Meth Came to represent and carve my name in your chest You can come test realize you're no contest Son, I'm the gun that won that old Wild West Quick on the draw with my hands on the four Nine three eleven with the rugged rhymes galore Check it 'cause I think not when this hip-hops like proper Rhymes be the proof while I'm drinkin' 90 proof Huh vodka, no OJ, no straw, when you give it to me aiy, give it to me raw I've learned when you drink absolute straight it burns Enough to give my chest hairs a perm I don't need a chemical blow to pull a hoe All I need is chemical bank to pay da mo' What, basically that, Meth-Tical, ninety-four style Word up we be hazardous car crashing, horn passing me Northern spicy brown mustard hoes We have to stick you Is it real son, is it really real son? Let me know it's real son, if it's really real Something I could feel son, load it up and kill one Want it raw deal son, if it's really real I'll fuckin', I'll fuckin' cut your kneecaps off And make you kneel in some staircase piss I'll fuckin', cut your eyelids off And feed you nuthin' but sleepin' pills You motherfuckers So fuck the hoe (So) Fuck the hoe |
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| 17. |
| 3:22 |
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| 18. |
| 3:42 |
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[Chorus:]
You're all that I need, I'll be there for you If you keep it real with me, I'll keep it real witchu Loving your whole schemes, it be in there boo On top of that you got the good power-U [Verse One:] Check it out Shorty I'm there for you anytime you need me For real girl, it's me in your world, believe me Nuttin make a man feel better than a woman Queen with a crown that be down for whatever There are few things that's forever, my lady We can make war or make babies Back when I was nuttin You made a brother feel like he was something That's why I'm with you to this day boo no frontin Even when the skies were gray You would rub me on my back and say "Baby it'll be okay" Now that's real to a brother like me baby Never ever give my pussy away and keep it tight aight And I'ma walk these dogs so we can live In a fat ass crib with thousands of kids Word life you don't need a ring to be my wife Just be there for me I'm a make sure we Be livin in the fucking lap of luxury I'm realizing that cha didn't have to fuck with me But cha did now I'm going all out kid And I got mad love to give, you my nigga [Chorus 2X] [Verse Two:] I got a love jonz for your body and your skin tone Five minutes alone I'm already on the bone Plus I love the fact you got a mind of your own No need to shop around you got the good shit at home Even if I'm locked up North you in the world Rockin three-fourths of cloth never showin your stuff off, boo It be true me for you that's how it is I can be your Noah you can be my Wiz Then I can be your Sun, you can be my Earth Resurrect the God through birth Best believe [Chorus 2X] |
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| 19. |
| 3:28 |
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| 20. |
| 4:00 |
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Taking it from the top?
Tippy? Tippy? How High? The Ultimate High [Method Man] Scuse me as I kiss the sky Sing a song of six pence, a pocet full a rye Who the fuck want to die for their culture Stalk the dead body like a vulture Tical get, hmm Blacker than your blackest stallion Hit your house'n projects I represent the Shaolin my nigga Hell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow It be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down [Redman] While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse When I raise my trigga finga all why'all niggaz hit the decks! Cause ain't no need for that, hustlers and hardcores Raw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs The Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it With more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch Plus, the Bombazee got me wild (Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide [Method Man] 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 Murder 1 lyric at your door Tical bring it to that ass raw Breakin all the rules like glass jaws Nigga, you got to get mine to get yours Fucka, we don't need no rap tour I'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture More than you bargained for Tical, that stays open like an all night store For real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill And end your existence, M-E-T Ain't no use for resistance, H-O-D [Redman] I bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust The Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts I shift like a clutch with the Ruck Examine my nuts, I don't stop till I get enough Your shit broke down, light your flare Since the darkside tears you into hollywood squares 6 million ways to die, so I chose Made it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed The blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap And shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass And yo my man (Tical) hit me now Bitches use to play me now they can't forget me now Forget me not, I rock the spot, check glock Empty off a licking off a hip hop Fuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block How you dope when you payed for your billboard spot? [Chorus] Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane It's the funk doctor spock smoking Buddha on a train How high? So high that I can kiss the sky How sick? So sick that you can suck my dick Look up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane Recognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed How high? So High that I can kiss the sky How sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick [Method Man] Til my man Raider Ruckus come home It ain't really on till the Ruckus get, home Puff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone We don't need your dirt weed we got a fuckin O Check it, I brings havoc with my hectic Bring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic Movin on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece Plus I got no love for the beast Hailin from the big East Coast Where niggaz pack toast Home of the drug kingpins and cut throats [Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block You try and stop the bum rush you will get popped] As I run around with a racist My style was born in the 50 stair cases Dig it, eff a rap critic He talk about it while I live it If Red got the blunt, I'm the second one to hit it [Redman] Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya Enter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet Rabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic Rollin blunts an all day habit I get it on like Smif'n'Wes Punks take a sip and test Who split your vest The funk phenomenon I'm bombin you like Lebanon Blow canals of Panama Just off stamina Styles not to be fucked with, or played with Fuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches Hitting switches, Twisting wigs with Fat radical mathematical type scriptures I dig up in your planets like Diga, Boo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens Fuck the marines, I got machines To light the spliff, and read Mad magazine I fly more heads than Continental Wreck ya 5 times like US AIR off an instrumental Look I'm not a half way crook with bad looks But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks I breaks em up proppa Ask Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya' Funk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg Look, I got the tools like Rickle To make your mind tickle For the nine nickle (Yo Red, yo Red!) Punk ass pussy ass [You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it] Word up Tical, We Out (It's over) |
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