Lyrics Method Man – Ronin’s
Text:
Come on
Ch’yeah
Meth, where you at?
Method Man:
My lines? Never lackin’
Even on Christmas Eve, I out rhyme whoever rappin’
Slime, shoulda tapped in
But he blind to the facts in
What the album, track one
Time for some action
Pass time for the last time I rhymed in this fashion
True Religion, he never thought he’d die in this fashion
But I got time today, if you dyin’ then ask him
Bars, forensic science, that’s if you tryna catch ’em
Lord, I think I’m over it, I ain’t over here actin’
I say it over and over, I ain’t overreactin’
What you picture is death, I’m just closin’ the caption
Who knows if I’ma blow, I just got my nose in a napkin
Super Saiyan, technically, I’m electrifyin’
To be specific, what I specifically specifyin’
See that’s progression and I’m especially rectifyin’
Any confessions, I don’t expect to be testifyin’
Cappadonna:
Fuck your ?
killa, ain’t nothin’ gon’ move
Meth Lab’s back, pardon the goons
Back in the kitchen with it smellin’ of fumes
Charged water, hard crack wit’ a spoon
Staten Island, straight up, fuck the platoons
Meanwhile it’s mumble rappers soundin’ kinda foreign
Find ’em pressed with Molly, tourin’
The man deplorin’
Naw, we never go live
We either gettin’ live, edit that
Protectin’ our guys, get it?
Y’all talk about while we live it
Y’all live stream and think you litted
Ain’t seen a face to face in a minute
Call ’em exquisite, come and crumble your waves
I got that lithium for days
Homie, sharpenin’ blades, yuh
It’s Mr. Parker, he get sharper wit’ age
Be at your door with the beard, I ain’t talkin’ no raids, fuckers
Black mufflers got the cowards afraid
We bet the situation grave
We’ll better dismantle your trades, nigga
Masta Killa:
This is no glove hittin’ the bar, bill open hand, callous slap
Rough, ashy knuckles spark, split your face rap
The quick loose your tooth jab, the fifty two clap
A hunnid rounds backin’ ’em down, the house trapped
We still keep a bat in the back, the the bone crack
Still spittin’ actual facts for bank stacks
Qball in the sock from the pool rack, snap his neck back
Every time I think I’m out, I get pulled back
It’s like I relapse and catch a flashback
I took the contract to kill an emcee so masterfully
So who better than me since ’93
Get you tied to a tree as a target if you wanna be
Hanz On:
Yo, I’m a old young nigga, I do it for sure
White FILAS, white fitted cherry valour
I keep hunnies on my side like Al B. Shure
I throw my chain in the crowd when you see me on tour
I’m at The Meth Lab re’in-up, I’m ready to score
Hanz On, Methical, Cappdonna, it’s hardcore
This ain’t a gang sign, naw, homie, it’s war
Fatigue Timberlands on, camoflauge door
Sniper team on deck, enemies abort
Staten Island, New York
Homicide Hillary
The Black X six, heavy artillery
I’m laughin’ at chy’all, your raps is killin’ me
Pop your wardrobe, yeah, I do it for love
In my block, homie, yeah, they do it for slugs
Smacks hands with the homeboy, show that thug
And never pop nothin’ if you can’t look ’em in the mug
Album
Method Man – Meth Lab Season 2: The Lithium
