Method Man, Streetlife, Shawnna - Who Ya Rollin Wit lyrics

Uh what's really good? Yo, yo, yo

It's the unstoppable, over come any obstacle
Ya'll 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, what's this I hear?
Somebody told ya'll
Steppin' in shit was good luck?
I got the hood stuck, chh-chh
Now give the goods up ya'll done pushed up
Past the point of no return
It's Meth's turn
So roll that shit up and let's 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 don't speak none
Everything cool until that heat come
Just call my name, and I'll be there
Ya'll kids is slum
Like the jewelry in Albi Square

We drinkin' Henny til we flip
Poppin' bottles til we sick
All ya'll haters eat a dick (yeah, uh)
Let's throw a party in this bitch
All my niggas and my chicks
Tell me who ya'll rollin' with (yeah)

Method spit's fire
(Fire) The roof's on (Fire)
My crew's on (Fire)

M-E T, H-O-D

Man, I'm in the house like foreclosures
Talk sober, until some dog gets forced over
New York soldiers, be at ease, fall back
Never ever, I'm the New Era, like ball caps
Kid, whenever, whoever, whatever
Ya'll want it
Ya'll can have it, the problem and answer
I'm all that while we at it
Let's tighten up our grips
Around that cabbage silly rabbit
How many kid's done tricked
You on your carrots
The product of a bad package
Like Bishop Don Juan it's Magic
How I break 'em like a bad habit
Hit tracks like it's target practice
Then let these darts take a stab at it
Niggas ain't got it, ain't never had it
I jam like LA traffic
Jellyroll behind the wheel
And the passenger seat behind the field
It's your boy, physically fit, mentally sick
Get dirty money, told you honey
I'm filthy rich

Yeah, ya'll niggas don't know it's a game
Until it starts again, let's do it, haha!

Six minutes, Method Man, you're on
If you thinkin' you gon' slip and be alright
You're wrong
You can see me lightin' the bong
While writin' the songs
That the crowd, is either singin'
To or fightin' along, fightin' along
I'm try'nna tell you drugs
Is not your friends and girlfriend
Don't try and front like you got your friend
I'm at the hotel, motel, Holiday Inn
And my chick's a man-eater
She be swallowin' men
Aight, live from New York
It's Saturday night
I got pipes that drain your confidence
And battery light aight, mami tight
But she ain't really my type
If ya'll don't see me treat her right
Then she ain't really my wife
When I was young, I was stayin' in school
Obeyin' rules play with my food
What makes you think I'm playin' with you?
This is it, ya'll better come on in
The water's fine
Jump on in, let's 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, I'm 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
Ya'll stand up, man, Stapleton
The Wild West, park Hill
Port Richmond, Now Born, Jungle Nilz
Hah peace!