Method Man - Who Ya Rollin Wit (old) | Текст песни

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• Method Man
• Who Ya Rollin Wit (old)

[Intro: Method Man]

Uh... what's really good?

Yo, yo, yo..

[Method Man]

It's the unstoppable, over come any obstacle

Ya'll know my flavor, pack more punch than Tropical

Any mission possible, do what I gots to do

Labels gettin' butterfingers, and next they droppin' you

You think you know, but you have no idea

The Diary of a Meth Man, what's this I hear?

Somebody told ya'll, steppin' in shit was good luck?

I got the hood stuck, chh-chh, now give the goods up

Ya'll done pushed up, past the point of no return

It's Meth's turn, so roll that shit up and let's burn

I heard Philly got the best 'scherm, out in Cali, they got the best perms

Now that we know, when will the rest learn?

Come on, each one, teach one, hear no evil, and I don't speak none

Everything cool until that heat come

Just call my name, and I'll be there

Ya'll kids is slum, like the jewelry in Albi Square

[Chorus: Streetlife (Shawnna)]

We drinkin' Henny til we flip, poppin' bottles til we sick

All ya'll haters eat a dick (yeah, uh)

Let's throw a party in this bitch, all my niggaz and my chicks

Tell me who ya'll rollin' with (yeah)

[Hook 2X: Streetlife (Method Man)]

Method spits fire (Fire!) The roof's on (Fire!) My crew's on (Fire!)

[Streetlife]

M-E-T, H-O-D..

[Method Man]

Man, I'm in the house like foreclosures

Talk sober, until some dog gets forced over

New York soldiers, be at ease, fall back

Never ever, I'm the New Era, like ball caps

Kid, whenever, whoever, whatever, ya'll want it

Ya'll can have it, the problem and answer, I'm all that

While we at it, let's tighten up our grips around that cabbage

Silly rabbit, how many kid's done tricked you on your carrots

The product of a bad package, like Bishop Don Juan it's Magic

How I break 'em like a bad habit, hit tracks like it's target practice

Then let these darts take a stab at it

Niggaz ain't got it, ain't never had it

I jam like L.A. traffic, Jellyroll behind the wheel

And the passenger seat behind the field

It's your boy, physically fit, mentally sick

Get dirty money, told you honey, I'm filthy rich

[Chorus]

[Hook 2X w/o "fire" the second time]

[Interlude: Method Man]

Yeah, ya'll niggaz don't know it's a game

Until it starts again, let's do it, haha!

[Method Man]

Six minutes, Method Man, you're on

If you thinkin' you gon' slip and be alright, you're wrong

You can see me lightin' the bong, while writin' the songs

That the crowd, is either singin' to or fightin' along, fightin' along

I'm try'nna tell you drugs is not your friends

And girlfriend, don't try and front like you got your friend

I'm at the hotel, motel, Holiday Inn

And my chick's a man-eater, she be swallowin' men

Aight, live from New York, it's Saturday night

I got pipes that drain your confidence, and battery light

Aight, mami tight, but she ain't really my type

If ya'll don't see me treat her right, then she ain't really my wife

When I was young, I was stayin' in school, obeyin' rules

Play with my food, what makes you think I'm playin' with you?

This is it, ya'll better come on in, the water's fine

Jump on in, let's do it to 'em one more 'gain

[Chorus]

[Hook 2X]

[Chorus]

[Outro: Method Man]

Yeah, Ladies Love Big John Studd

No doubt, dick up in your mouth

We do this shit everyday, I'm in the cut

With my main shit stain, Ray-R

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