New York - Method Man

Okay, Yeah, yeah,

Back for another one bitch, Let’s do it, Ha

Staten Island stand up,(okay)

Long Island stand up, (okay)

Jersey, Yeah, Brick City nigga

Funk Doc

Yo, I’ll start this rhyme with how y’all feel in this bitch

I’m finna to spit, got steel in my grip

But I ain’t talkin bout guns, I’m talkin mics, niggas stealin my shit

Then try to act like they ain’t feelin my shit

Now if we talkin bout ones, I’m Russell Simmons I be talkin in tongues

Fuck where you from and all the niggas you brung

Punk, My clan don’t sleep son, I put that on each one

Be cool until the heat come, these pussies might eat some

Nigga this is not pop music, unless your tryna pop shots to it

Why would you have that Glock and not use it

How could you hear this joint and not lose it

You stupid, You need to shot from cupid to get love for this music

Diamond in the ruff, Like iodine, Find me in the cut

If not, probably find me in a slut, if I buy me a Dutch

That means Mef Man’s back with the stuff, Lot of back talkin backin it up

Now I like bein the man, I like weed in my hands

I like my G’s in advance, But y’all don’t understand

Me no like, fake niggas that ain’t got the game right

Me no like, when y’all killas pop shit and can’t fight

Back in the zone, No backbone

He stepped on and spat on, niggas don’t last long

If I don’t get some act-right soon, I’m gonna act wrong

I ain’t tryin to get clapped on for makin these rap songs

If you’re misunderstood pimp, what would the hood think?

To know that I’ve been swindled, bamboozled, and hoodwinked

These rappers ain’t like me, they see that there might be

More to me then some Air Force Ones and a white tee, I’m nice B

6 foot 4, Un-cut raw, pocket full of straws, I’m that nigga to look for

Want paper like a book store, ain’t never been shook poor

I switch from Method Man to Candy Man and the hooked off

Still ain’t nothin sweet though, Who wanna spit flows

First learn to put the weed inside the bag and then get dough, (Then get dough

motherfucker)

Tell your peoples and kin folk, I been dope, Anything else is an insult.

(God damn right)

So obnoxious that I’m toxic, Call that diarrhea

Spit that hot shit, cause I’m hot bitch, And got butter-fingers

Oops I drops it, load and locks it, Take the recipe that’s been concocted

Got women just like a vehicle, Topless

First You see what I’m worth, Pullin paper straight out the wood work

Until I push dirt, Shit I hate to fuck up a good shirt

But damnit I’m back, I done relapsed, Shot a dose of some murder I wrote,

Then lean back

I’m part Ghost, Part Cappa, RZA, And Deck

Part Dirty, Uey, GZA, Masta Killa, And Chef

But I’m all Mef, All vet, Killers I’m complex

Niggas, Have yet to blow up, Nothin but bomb threats

New York yall, Shoot or shank me, I bleed Yankee

I’m hot dog, Yall ain’t nathan to put it frankly

I find excuses to finally lose it, Then write exclusive

And he like VH1, You know behind the music