Uh... whats really good?
Yo, yo, yo..
Its the unstoppable, over come any obstacle
Yall 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, whats this I hear?
Somebody told yall, steppin in shit was good luck?
I got the hood stuck, chh-chh, now give the goods up
Yall done pushed up, past the point of no return
Its Meths turn, so roll that shit up and lets 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 dont speak none
Everything cool until that heat come
Just call my name, and Ill be there
Yall kids is slum, like the jewelry in Albi Square
We drinkin Henny til we flip, poppin bottles til we sick
All yall haters eat a dick (yeah, uh)
Lets throw a party in this bitch, all my niggaz and my chicks
Tell me who yall rollin with (yeah)
Method spits fire (Fire!) The roofs on (Fire!) My crews on (Fire!)
M-E-T, H-O-D..
Man, Im in the house like foreclosures
Talk sober, until some dog gets forced over
New York soldiers, be at ease, fall back
Never ever, Im the New Era, like ball caps
Kid, whenever, whoever, whatever, yall want it
Yall can have it, the problem and answer, Im all that
While we at it, lets tighten up our grips around that cabbage
Silly rabbit, how many kids done tricked you on your carrots
The product of a bad package, like Bishop Don Juan its Magic
How I break em like a bad habit, hit tracks like its target practice
Then let these darts take a stab at it
Niggaz aint got it, aint never had it
I jam like L.A. traffic, Jellyroll behind the wheel
And the passenger seat behind the field
Its your boy, physically fit, mentally sick
Get dirty money, told you honey, Im filthy rich
Yeah, yall niggaz dont know its a game
Until it starts again, lets do it, haha!
Six minutes, Method Man, youre on
If you thinkin you gon slip and be alright, youre wrong
You can see me lightin the bong, while writin the songs
That the crowd, is either singin to or fightin along, fightin along
Im trynna tell you drugs is not your friends
And girlfriend, dont try and front like you got your friend
Im at the hotel, motel, Holiday Inn
And my chicks a man-eater, she be swallowin men
Aight, live from New York, its Saturday night
I got pipes that drain your confidence, and battery light
Aight, mami tight, but she aint really my type
If yall dont see me treat her right, then she aint really my wife
When I was young, I was stayin in school, obeyin rules
Play with my food, what makes you think Im playin with you?
This is it, yall better come on in, the waters fine
Jump on in, lets do it to em one more gain
Yeah, Ladies Love Big John Studd
No doubt, dick up in your mouth
We do this shit everyday, Im in the cut
With my main shit stain, Ray-Ray Gutter Butt
And we holdin it down for the whole Staten Island, man
Nothin else but Staten Island, man
Yall stand up, man, Stapleton, the Wild West, Park Hill
Port Richmond, Now Born, Jungle Nilz, hah... Peace!
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