Method Man + Ghostface Freestyle Stretch and Bobbito (Ft. Ghostface Killah & Method Man)
On this page, discover the full lyrics of the song "Method Man + Ghostface Freestyle" by Stretch and Bobbito (Ft. Ghostface Killah & Method Man). Lyrxo.com offers the most comprehensive and accurate lyrics, helping you connect with the music you love on a deeper level. Ideal for dedicated fans and anyone who appreciates quality music.
[Intro: Method Man & Ghostface Killah]
One-two, one-two
Got me open, kid, one-two, one-two
Two, one-two, yeah
Method Man, Ghostface Killah in the house (Word up)
Check me out, check me out, yeah, yeah
Yeah, yeah, Method Man, yo
Method Man, yo, listen
[Verse 1: Method Man & Ghostface Killah]
What's 6-foot-4 coming at your jaw?
It's me kid, coming from the 1-6-0
I got crew kid, straight from the smoked out lungs of the mad one
Blow a crab to kingdom come 'cause it's real son
Represent what town you're from
And I kill rhymes quicker than a clock kill time
Word life, god, fuck making fancy moves
I need props, forget about a Hill Street Blue
This is my block, nigga wanna test my stee
I make shit hot, burn to a third degree
And it don't stop, keep on to the break of dawn
And I rip cords in half with the Wu-Tang style
What up? Ha, you're blind 'cause you don't know math
You's a bitch-ass nigga from a lightweight class
Caution, you're pissing me off and its forcin'
Me to have thoughts of extortion (Yeah, yo)
One-two, one-two
Got me open, kid, one-two, one-two
Two, one-two, yeah
Method Man, Ghostface Killah in the house (Word up)
Check me out, check me out, yeah, yeah
Yeah, yeah, Method Man, yo
Method Man, yo, listen
[Verse 1: Method Man & Ghostface Killah]
What's 6-foot-4 coming at your jaw?
It's me kid, coming from the 1-6-0
I got crew kid, straight from the smoked out lungs of the mad one
Blow a crab to kingdom come 'cause it's real son
Represent what town you're from
And I kill rhymes quicker than a clock kill time
Word life, god, fuck making fancy moves
I need props, forget about a Hill Street Blue
This is my block, nigga wanna test my stee
I make shit hot, burn to a third degree
And it don't stop, keep on to the break of dawn
And I rip cords in half with the Wu-Tang style
What up? Ha, you're blind 'cause you don't know math
You's a bitch-ass nigga from a lightweight class
Caution, you're pissing me off and its forcin'
Me to have thoughts of extortion (Yeah, yo)
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