[Verse 1: Method Man]
Listen, what 6 foot 4 coming at your jaw
It's me kid, coming from the 1-6-oooh
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 you'll time
Word life god, fuck making fancy moves
I need props forget about a Hill Street Blue
This is my plot, 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'se a bitch ass nigga from a light-weight class
Caution, you're pissing me off and its forcin' me to have thoughts of extortion
[Verse 2: Ghostface Killah]
Yo, i'ma be here forever, max like the weather
Thoughts designed and classified like genuine leather
As I get down to the Brownsville
You remain still as I shoot the gif at will with rough raps
Banging off of marvellous tracks
Paragraphs slamming like a late night snack
The rap therapist
You could get with this rhyme specialist
Yes I be possessed leaving threats like a terrorist
Blood spiller, ex-convict, verbal assaulter
Disguising as a psychiatrist who lays water
This child was born to be [?]
Purse snatching, robbing old men, I was foul
Now I like smuggling mics of all types
Spotlights at the airport and catch a flight to another chamber
Then I will strike like a stranger
Bad guys shorten they lives and lose fingers
Meth Tical, word up (Tical, Tical, Tical)
Listen, what 6 foot 4 coming at your jaw
It's me kid, coming from the 1-6-oooh
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 you'll time
Word life god, fuck making fancy moves
I need props forget about a Hill Street Blue
This is my plot, 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'se a bitch ass nigga from a light-weight class
Caution, you're pissing me off and its forcin' me to have thoughts of extortion
[Verse 2: Ghostface Killah]
Yo, i'ma be here forever, max like the weather
Thoughts designed and classified like genuine leather
As I get down to the Brownsville
You remain still as I shoot the gif at will with rough raps
Banging off of marvellous tracks
Paragraphs slamming like a late night snack
The rap therapist
You could get with this rhyme specialist
Yes I be possessed leaving threats like a terrorist
Blood spiller, ex-convict, verbal assaulter
Disguising as a psychiatrist who lays water
This child was born to be [?]
Purse snatching, robbing old men, I was foul
Now I like smuggling mics of all types
Spotlights at the airport and catch a flight to another chamber
Then I will strike like a stranger
Bad guys shorten they lives and lose fingers
Meth Tical, word up (Tical, Tical, Tical)
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