Blackout |
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Blackout Lyrics |
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 Intro: Method Man: *All my people...!* Redman It`s Funk Doc Where da weed at, bitch?! I speed back wist, down to one-way from cops See thas` shit?! Believe thas` shit! Slaughter straight to camcorder, I`m too hot for t.v. Backdraw water, my windpipes attached to Project-ballers You yell: "Turn the heat down!" My voice, D.V.D. round-sound, some herb round town And chances of ya`ll leavin`, round now Wait later, will make Funk page paper Date Raper wit` Juvenile 8th Graders Hit the High School at 187 Caesar When I bust ya`ll need to back 4 acres Doc ya`ll and that`s my man Jabberjaw The shitlist ready, who next to scratch off? I`m from the underground, my soundlib Platform shoes to bitches, 400 pounds! Chorus: Meth & Red GET UP, STAND UP, BACK UP, PUSH `EM JUMP UP, ACT UP TO MAKE YOU FEEL IT! Brrrrr...STICK `EM, HA-HAHA STICK `EM Brrrrr...STICK `EM, HA-HAHA STICK `EM Yo` BLACKOUT, SHOOT OUT, SMOKED OUT MOVE OUT, EVEN KNOCK THE TOOTH OUT, TO MAKE YA`LL FEEL IT! Brrrrr...STICK `EM, HA-HAHA STICK `EM Brrrrr...STICK `EM, HA-HAHA STICK `EM Method Man: Now I`m the streettalkin`, dogwalkin` Approach me with extreme caution, OH NOW YOU FORCIN`? My hand that rock yo` cradle often I`m hot-scorchin`, but stone cold like Steve Austin If you smell what Tical cookin`, ain`t try to see central bookin` So til ya gon` stop lookin`, now what you did last summer? So I started hookin`, you past shookin` Over open can I ass-whoopin`? Ain`t no tomorrows in the Method`s Little Shop Of Horrors Go ask your father who the father from the Hill to Harbor You know tha saga, marijuana bustin` Goldschlaager With deadly medley, ya`ll ain`t ready for Shakwon and Reggie Don`t even bother, the radio for back-up Alright then, ya man got slapped up extorted for his icin` Streetlife is triflin` *Body over here...!* Col` make me pull a Tyson and bite a nigga` ear Precisin`, slicin` jugulars the cut-crew Ruggeder, Predator, Viking, etc. People`s champ, niggaz be takin` all competetors Reachin` for the microphone, relax and light a bone Straight from the Catacomb The Children Of The Corn, that don`t got a clue Prepare for desert storm! Chorus I scored 1.1 on my SAT And still push a whip with a right and left AC Gorilla, Big Dog, if my name get called I`m behind the brickwall with arsenic jaws Spit poison, got a gun permit draw Gundown at Sundown you keep score! This training-course and ya`ll ain`t fit On my crew-tombstone put `We All Ain`t Shit` Meth Yo`, all you gonna be, wanna be When will you learn? Wanna be Doc and Meth? Gotta wait ya turn I spit a .41 Revolver on New Year`s Eve With the mic in my hand I mutilate m.c.`s The most slept on since Rip Van Wink My shit stink with every element from A to Zinc So what you think? I`ma blackout on just one drink? You must be crazy! A little off the wall maybe Go get a shrink... Chorus |
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