"Good.. Wu-Tang martial expert There's not many, who can match up with him"
(He'll give you a heart condition if you fuck around like that there Tell you it ain't no good for the bloodstream You know god damn whatever and uhh it's dumb and big -- it's DUMB AND BIG) Mira, Meth-Tical comin through with the suu (Lie in cut for y'all) Check it out
Niggaz wanna test my steez, nigga please I black that eye like peas, you better freeze in your tracks, a Wu-Tang (bzzz) killer bee's on ya back I comes for the honey plus the phat money sack You want it all? Yeah I want it all like THAT I stab my own moms in the back for a stack Niggaz like, "Damn, why you want it like that?" (Why is that?) Cause I'm a dog, and I got no love for the cat (uhh) Attitude's cold like the North polar cap Where I do my dirt's a little further down the map (Is that so?) A little buckwhylin, Island called Stat' Where niggaz carry gats in they Black Moon hat Now I'm mad known for the bones and the rap And youse an unknown with a faulty contract Wake up and smell the Met-chod motherfucker contact Villain in the cypher from the foe when head crack An Indian giver and I'm out to take it back Shaolin Island, baby where you at? A runaway train that be runnin on ya track That's how it's goin down, yeah, it's goin down like that
I gets my thang in action To live, to love, to see, to learn Yo! Tell em what's happenin!
(What's happenin? I'll tell yo' ass what's happenin Tell em what's happenin It's goin on out here - brothers ain't got no peers and they smokin funny - shuddup yo' damn mouth!)
[Method Man] I swing funky rap routines and tap the jaws Spot ya twenty points and you still can't score NUTTIN - cause you ain't got no points in this game Kid you FRONTIN - I'm home run hittin, you be buntin Fresh out the toilet, I got my shit together When I'm good, I'm good, when bad, I'm better You want it? Whatever - I'll be the stormy weather rain comin down, so weatherproof your leather JACKET, a nigga with a AXE couldn't HACK IT I spark em like a match (ssskt) Coming back it's the Met-chod, say it loud I'm the Met-chod, Man - clap yo' hands, now check it See me in the mix, rollin fat, bustin flicks While my physical brother came through and got me lift Niggaz, that I walk by, give me the eye The moment is fuckin me up, killin my high Nigga get back, ya pussy cat, I'm fearsome Basically THAT, I'm all of THAT, and then some While I, was out on tour, goin beserk I heard you was at the sandbox and kickin DIRT All on my name but you can't pull my file YOU DON'T KNOW ME, AND YOU DON'T KNOW MY STYLE Comin out dere like dat dere, YEAHHHH Even Grizzly Adams couldn't bear
(Ahhheheh, I taught the boy everything he KNOW Go on you bad motherfuckers See I told you that kid go back to that Dolemite Everybody needs to love Dolemite I love Dolemite, you love Dolemite Hey, how you doin nigga, I know you Knowin I didn't when I did Meth-Tical Shiiit, I told the boy If ya can't get yourself a ten The least you can do is spark five two's And we out, Method)
Compositores: Clifford M. Smith, Robert F Diggs ECAD: Obra #3623016