Method Man - Redbull lyrics

[Redman] RZA came and got me, this what I came to do, come on Ring the bell so it's time to eat Brick Dog stash weed inta AMI-seats Bomb inside the palm Doc rock a wifebeater with me beatin my wife a** ironed on The front with my pump built like the Klumps To carry it I take the spare out the trunk I stay hungry, I ain't worked for days That's why you see the pump when the curtains raise Blast! Don't panic Do I gotta explain how I tame and lock the rapgame single-handed? Hell nah! I won't tell you son If I find a wack ID I sell you one Doc and Hot Nick, Inspectah My lecture's like Hannibal Lector's Where's the ketchup? Don't speak on it, shut ya trap I see ya whole crew yellow like mustardpacks Ah woo, Doc in my own zone You say you got the rapgames sewn, but it's sewn wrong I ride through ya hood in a Mr. Softee truck Then pull a mac out a box of snow cones Yeah, ya little f**s Gimme ya f**ing money! *Shout-outs from Raekwon and Ghostface* [Method Man] Uhuh, check it I'm hotter than a hundred degrees with my coat on Playing with a dynamitestick, where did I go wrong? Somebody pull the fire along when Jonny stomp If ya lukewarm leavin ya clothes and boots torn Pro's and con's, megabomb's and so-on's By arid actions try MC's to get their roll on First issue got issues What is hip-hop to Hot Nickles? It's like Funk Doc to snot tissues, word Look at my hand and get the third Finger out ya earhole like: f** what you hear Now that's what I call hardcore, let's act fool Mr. Fix-It like Handyman I pack tool I been sh**ty, I'm from the bowels of the city (New York) And just because my outfit match don't make me pretty Baggy dungarees, dick need room to breathe In a room full of crackers I might cut the cheese Ain't no rules to the game, if it is we ain't playin In your business like EPMD, "So What Cha Sayin'" You co-signin that bullsh** yo man tryin Chaka chaka cha-ta tatat!! Slugs flyin *Shout-outs from Raekwon, Ghostface and Inspectah Deck* [Inspectah Deck] Yo, ya Check, the code echos from magazines to the big screen Fo' wheel machines like ya wits scream Kids fiend from the urban to sub-urban Roll upon me thirstin like: Hey, hey, Mister Dream-Merchant We roll longer than dice in a casino Cee-lo in the 4, 5 or 6 with double 0 Behind the tinted windows I lay low On some hydro tryin to slide from the 5-0 But now I get wild similar to Ol' Dirty A third time felon just hit with over 30 No worries, style have em so thirsty First degree heats are quittin on me Cold turkey, no mercy I bring the pain of a hundred migraines But a thousand shoutin my name that's why I came But first bring the cashburst, then the outburst My surround sound pound ya ear like Jevon Kearse I flex muscle outside I find a next hustle Trouble with ya here and face the TEC-muscle Even the best buckle win I take it to the extreme It gets ugly, but it's what a n***a do to get C.R.E.A.M This life *Shout-outs from Raekwon and Ghostface*