Method Man - K.B. Ridin' lyrics

[Intro: Ghostface k**ah (RZA) {Method Man}] Word (These mothaf**in' n***as, man) Yeah, I hear that, you got that sh**, right? (Yeah, I got it) Lemme hear it (I'ma two-way Sunn back right now Next time she show up right on time for this sh**) Word, no doubt (Better stop smokin' on that sh**) f** that, hey, don't do it with him (Whatever) Yo yeah, lemme get that mothaf**a's sayin' on this, n***a (Yeah, n***as be buggin' in here n***a don't speak no f**in' English, word?) You get me everything? (I got you a cheese joint) {Diamond buscuits, mothaf**a!} [Break: Method Man (RZA) {Prodical}] Now let's see, we don't get down like that See, he holds his own, haha, he holds his own Haha, he holds his own (Bank!) (John Blizzy) {Straight like that} He holdin' twenty on this (Ghost Deini) {Uh-huh! Yeah!} (ShaCronz) {The invincible, baby) Bad boys (Suga Bang) {It's like that!} (D-Digi!) [Method Man (Prodical)] Spontaneous combustion got n***as lustin' f**in' with this head bustin' track spanker Decaffinator, crab sinker, twenty-five Tryin' to live to see my forty acher, before I die Immaculate conceptions like loaded weapons Shootin' up ya rap session in mere seconds (Bluh! Bluh!) Ya whole style is undressin' Try to hide yaself behind the R&B section And got spotted, f**in' with them fake artists who make garbage Now ya like a human target with no direction And no protection, rap n***a a**ed out and no question Dead and buried, we holdin' like the military f** Dog sh**, hide-out beats and hot cherries On virgin mic's, style very cri-Tical By any means necessary, mad lyr-ical The Ghostrider, want vengeance on you style biters Ya whole sect got you ga**ed 'til I sparked the lighter And burnt that a** like Dhalsim in Street Fighter I play the shadows, scopin' out you lime lighters and Desperados [Chorus: Suga Bang Bang (RZA) {Prodical}] k**a Beez is ridin' East to West, baby See our twenties spinnin' on our trucks, baby Diamonds, Cubans hangin' from our neck, baby Come on, come on [Interlude: RZA {Prodical}] {Baby cuz It's Not a Game} You see them mothaf**in' twenty-inch chromes spinnin'? {Rocked out, baby, ice hangin'} [Ghostface k**ah (RZA)] Bailed out from d**, almost retired from bubblin' Hammers was the guns under the rug, lift off my publishin' Jet to Miami, I chuggle-lug the beat Fiends beepin' me, I erase and delete (Come on) Surrounded my palm trees and sound-proof condos Tryin' out Spanish foods, Roberto's bangin' bongos Do whatever, crackin' down weather, it means nice Walkin' down the strip, these fat n***as broke the ice Drive it in a host, the trucks, the gate's wide open A square box fell out, I'm hopin' it be coke and I snatched it, dipped into a parkin' lot and wrapped it See diamonds, pearls, rubies, gems, covered with acid Heavens to mega-troid, infants'll know I'm paranoid What she goes through, I'm on a next flight to St. Croix Sneaker boy and Genius, I heard he struck oil Him and Masta k**a own Fox and mad loyal [Chorus - last two lines only] Diamonds, Cubans hangin' from our neck, baby Come on, come on [Interlude: RZA {Prodical}] {The finest, baby, the finest} (You see them Linx hangin'?) [ShaCronz] Yo, yo You know I rarely fight, I keep heat plus I'm very nice I run with two-eighties on me like Jerry Rice I f** with many birds, not the canary type I've seen a lot of happy days and scary nights My click hotter than fish grease, kids be diss-free Most of these labels can't handle this heat I love new twat, scrap ho's on a few blocks When my hate grows I let the tools pop A lot of these rap n***as be fast to plea Raw cook up, Got the Hook-Up like Master P F.G., we don't talk, n***a, fast to squeeze Walk up and let a hundred shots crash ya V The first to pull out, the first to body somethin' I got all the heat all the shorties in ya lobby pumpin' Them dudes you standin' with probably frontin' k**a Bee Gang got that sh** that keep ya hottie jumpin' What? [Chorus 2X] [Interlude: RZA {Prodical}] {Straight like that, baby, it's nuttin' less, K.B., baby Don't forget it, C.C.F.} You see the sh**s spinnin'? Come on, n***a! {Clamp on, baby} Come on! Yo, yo, tell them n***as, son What? What? You see the sh**s spinnin'? {Yeah} sh** hangin', son, they hangin' {Better catch it} Come on! Come on! [Outro: Prodical (RZA)] Straight gangsta (Yo, you've just been experiencin' Wu-Tang k**a Beez - The Sting) Explosive, baby, comin' at you (Y'all mothaf**as know.. The next chamber's the mothaf**in' weather) Look out for the Stingers, baby