Lyrics Method Man – Yo

Text:

Yo!
Yo, yo!
Yo!

Yo, it’s gettin’ hotter, Barker in the flesh

Yo, he get malicious with it, more or less
Yo, he get suspicious, man, you know the rest
Yo, hearts absent in these rapper’s chest
Yes, he is resilient if you go reflect
Blessed, them goons holdin’ but they on they best
Yo, so when you see ’em better show respect
It’s Hanzarelli, had them grizzlies come and get you pressed
Yo, you mother fuckers, y’all ain’t actin’ right
Y’all niggas spendin’ all the paper, y’all ain’t trappin’ right
Ain’t no other way to say it, shit is black and white
I have you on the train to Georgia like you’re Gladys Knight
Whoa, he the conductor, fuckers pay the price
He like a drunk trucker blowin’ through the traffic lights
Y’all like some blood suckas, busters in your blood type
The shadow figure push the button, make y’all outta sight

Yooo, y’all know what type of time we on
Yooo, shinin’ with no diamonds on
Yooo, them Staten boys hittin’ hard and we always with the shits whenever drummers on
Yooo, y’all know what type of time we on
Yooo, shinin’ with no diamonds on
Yooo, them Staten boys hittin’ hard and we always with the shits whenever drummers on

Yooo, respect the juk, y’all ready know
Yooo, I’m burnin’ kush, keep that Reggie though
Yooo, I’m talkin’ bush, y’all so petty though
You in the town, you can get around, no merry go
Whoa, boy, I shred ’em up, confetti throw

I’m runnin’ circles around your circle, who said he-oh
Staten, welcome to the island, we ready, yo
We Getty, yo, and we part Italians, SpaghettiOs
Yooo, I’m ’bout my fetti, that heavy dough
Just let me blow, every forecast is heavy snow
Burr, if Method freezin’, I bet he froze
Burr, one with every season, I bet he cold
Forty below let the forty blow while I’m stealin’ forty belows after forty years old, yeeeow
Not metaworld but metaflow
And these are tests, try and catch the metaphor

Hey, yo, the street is the only life I know
Yo, I get it poppin’ everywhere I go
Since I was an embryo, I been that nigga, yo
Shoutout to Wu like the episode from the Martin show
Yo, walk with a Staten strut, burn a dutch
I’m first on the frontline to hit ’em up
Mr. Clutch when it’s crunchtime, I got the touch
And I don’t need a patent with that but thank you much
Student of my culture, gun in my holster
Blow some coca, live it, la vida loca
I’m a alpha dog, y’all niggas is analog
We digital, it’s impossible to beat the gods
It’s logical, why would you go against the odds?
It’s possible, you could die for that shit you blog
Check my résumé, real nigga D-N-A
Get it the ski-mask way ’til my dyin’ day