Method Man, Redman

Oh my god...Oh my god !!!! ah ah ah aowww!!!

[Verse One: Method Man]

Microphone checka, swingin sword lecture
closin down the sectar supreme neck protector
Bet I won em kid Mr. Metha warmin pot
about to blow his lid from the pressure, too hot for TV
but cheesy, Too many wanna be hard be easy, is all in together
going all not together it don't take much to please me
Still homes are never satisfy like the stones
we don't condome bitin in the sellin crossbones
protectin what am writin don't clash with the Titan
who blast with a liscence to kill rap presitence
C'mon, in the zone with ya nigga from the Group Home
TICAL!!(Fuck your lifestyle!!) (Blew wind)...put your lights out
got the shit the crackin got you fienin with your pipes out
time for some action, surfin the avenue
mad at you, where I used to battle crews
back when Antoinette had that attitude
Cover me I'm going in, walls closin in
got us bustin off these pistols
my niggas got issues...again, same song
armed with the mega bomb
Blow you out the frame and I'm gone.

[Verse Two: Redman]

I was going to Buck-we-romes, cellular phones
Doc-Meth back in the flesh, blood and bone
don't condone Spent bank loans and homegrown
suckers break like Turbo
in no zone, when I, grab the broom
moon-walk platoon hawk my goons spark
leave you in a blue lagoon lost (true)
three nines and a glove with masu di die in the car
right behind on the boss
Haters don't touch, weigh us both up
now my neighbor doped up
got the cable hooked up. All channels
lift my shirt all Mammal
you ship off keys and we ship Grand Pianos.
sawed off shotgun
hand on the pump, sippin on a forty
smokin on a blunt
bust my gun and Red and Meth gettin jumped
La la la la, la la la laaaaa

yeah c'mon, Red and Meth gettin jumped
La la la la, la la la laaaaaa

Taking it from the top?
Tippy? Tippy?
How High?
The Ultimate High
[Method Man]
Scuse me as I kiss the sky
Sing a song of six pence, a pocet full a rye
Who the fuck want to die for their culture
Stalk the dead body like a vulture
Tical get, hmm
Blacker than your blackest stallion
Hit your house'n projects
I represent the Shaolin my nigga
Hell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow
It be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down
[Redman]
While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse
When I raise my trigga finga all why'all niggaz hit the decks!
Cause ain't no need for that, hustlers and hardcores
Raw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs
The Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it
With more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch
Plus, the Bombazee got me wild
(Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide
[Method Man]
10 9 8 7 6 5 4
3 2 Murder 1 lyric at your door
Tical bring it to that ass raw
Breakin all the rules like glass jaws
Nigga, you got to get mine to get yours
Fucka, we don't need no rap tour
I'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture
More than you bargained for
Tical, that stays open like an all night store
For real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel
Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill
And end your existence, M-E-T
Ain't no use for resistance, H-O-D
[Redman]
I bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust
The Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts
I shift like a clutch with the Ruck
Examine my nuts, I don't stop till I get enough
Your shit broke down, light your flare
Since the darkside tears you into hollywood squares
6 million ways to die, so I chose
Made it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed
The blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap
And shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass
And yo my man (Tical) hit me now
Bitches use to play me now they can't forget me now
Forget me not, I rock the spot, check glock
Empty off a licking off a hip hop
Fuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block
How you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?
[Chorus]
Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane
It's the funk doctor spock smoking Buddha on a train
How high? So high that I can kiss the sky
How sick? So sick that you can suck my dick
Look up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane
Recognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed
How high? So High that I can kiss the sky
How sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick
[Method Man]
Til my man Raider Ruckus come home
It ain't really on till the Ruckus get, home
Puff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone
We don't need your dirt weed we got a fuckin O
Check it, I brings havoc with my hectic
Bring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic
Movin on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece
Plus I got no love for the beast
Hailin from the big East Coast
Where niggaz pack toast
Home of the drug kingpins and cut throats
[Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block
You try and stop the bum rush you will get popped]
As I run around with a racist
My style was born in the 50 stair cases
Dig it, eff a rap critic
He talk about it while I live it
If Red got the blunt, I'm the second one to hit it
[Redman]
Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya
Enter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet
Rabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic
Rollin blunts an all day habit
I get it on like Smif'n'Wes
Punks take a sip and test
Who split your vest
The funk phenomenon
I'm bombin you like Lebanon
Blow canals of Panama
Just off stamina
Styles not to be fucked with, or played with
Fuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches
Hitting switches, Twisting wigs with
Fat radical mathematical type scriptures
I dig up in your planets like Diga,
Boo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens
Fuck the marines, I got machines
To light the spliff, and read Mad magazine
I fly more heads than Continental
Wreck ya 5 times like US AIR off an instrumental
Look I'm not a half way crook with bad looks
But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks
I breaks em up proppa
Ask Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'
Funk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg
Look, I got the tools like Rickle
To make your mind tickle
For the nine nickle
(Yo Red, yo Red!)
Punk ass pussy ass
[You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it]
Word up Tical, We Out
(It's over)

Oh my god...Oh my god !!!! ah ah ah aowww!!!

Microphone checka, swingin sword lecture
closin down the sectar supreme neck protector
Bet I won em kid Mr. Metha warmin pot
about to blow his lid from the pressure, too hot for TV
but cheesy, Too many wanna be hard be easy, is all in together
going all not together it don't take much to please me
Still homes are never satisfy like the stones
we don't condome bitin in the sellin crossbones
protectin what am writin don't clash with the Titan
who blast with a liscence to kill rap presitence
C'mon, in the zone with ya nigga from the Group Home
TICAL!!(Fuck your lifestyle!!) (Blew wind)...put your lights out
got the shit the crackin got you fienin with your pipes out
time for some action, surfin the avenue
mad at you, where I used to battle crews
back when Antoinette had that attitude
Cover me I'm going in, walls closin in
got us bustin off these pistols
my niggas got issues...again, same song
armed with the mega bomb
Blow you out the frame and I'm gone.

I was going to Buck-we-romes, cellular phones
Doc-Meth back in the flesh, blood and bone
don't condone Spent bank loans and homegrown
suckers break like Turbo
in no zone, when I, grab the broom
moon-walk platoon hawk my goons spark
leave you in a blue lagoon lost (true)
three nines and a glove with masu di die in the car
right behind on the boss
Haters don't touch, weigh us both up
now my neighbor doped up
got the cable hooked up. All channels
lift my shirt all Mammal
you ship off keys and we ship Grand Pianos.
sawed of shotgun
hand on the pump, sippin on a forty
puffin on a blunt
bust my gun and Red and Meth gettin jumped
La la la la, la la la laaaaa

yeah c'mon, Red and Meth gettin jumped
La la la la, la la la laaaaaa