Clifford Smith - Built for This lyrics

[Produced by Frank Dukes] [Verse 1: Method Man] Sort of like Malcolm at the Audubon They coming for me, time is money no Audemar See bar-for-bar, I keep it pushing no R&R No foreign broads and no promotion for foreign cars The game is ours, let's keep it funky who said he was Like Staten Island, Italians bleed spaghetti sauce If y'all ain't shaking or stacking than y'all already lost Already cross the light, Christ I'm ready for em Plus anybody that saying no, I'm taking numbers I'm taking names, I'll take your chain take this hunger Pain, pain, pain Then you feel the thunder and rain I don't talk it like the rainbow I get it done and the game y'all Do me a favor, don't ever play with my ball Never been a player-hater I just ain't playing with y'all You watching lame but look I'm taking the charge Going hard will get you two shots now I'm facing the charge [Hook x2: Freddie Gibbs] Fire up the la let's go take a ride They might catch you by surprise if you let em slide But if you're built for this sh** then you might survive Guess I'll see you when you wake up on the other side [Verse 2: Freddie Gibbs] Sort of like Mike at the United Center Madison Square, Boston Garden I straight ignite on n***as Lil' n***a your raps ain't no fire, that sh**'ll collapse so don't try I scribble and scratch down in my pad that no lie That no fake, that uncut, that straight drop, what the f** I'm pulled over by the jakes, a twenty-eight up in my nuts For em took away in cuffs I'd rather lay up in the dust Feel like f** a friend a hundred million haters ain't enough Twist it up Life is a blunt and the world is my ash tray I got them quarters and them halves just meet me like halfway And I need a hundred percent of my profit ain't f**ing with half pay Ain't taking no shorts or losses b**h we ain't fronting no tag day As I can recollect, praying to God this dope'll stretch Turn mobster warners, work these corners like P90X Chilling and waiting, patient retaliation just ain't find me yet I'll take it into Heaven, you couldn't buy me that, remind me that [Hook] [Verse 3: StreetLife] It's the world's worst, quick to snatch your man purse And leave your body head first in the stretched hearse Murder she wrote, I'm known to spit a k**er verse And leave a player blood spilling on his linen shirt You can Google my name but you ain't gotta search I'm right here in the streets, I'm putting in work Go ahead, f** around and get your feelings hurt Or, you can get carried outta your local church I'm from the old school, I do my own dirt Mama raised no fool, I did my own work Keep your wifey close, she's a little flirt I knew her since '03, I hit the b**h first I'm the reason why your baby mama water burst I've been marvelous since birth, you can ask my Earth It's not a problem to show you how the shotty work I put your body in the dirt, but what the dollars worth [Hook]