| Song | Suspect Chin Music |
| Artist | Method Man |
| Album | Tical 2000: Judgement Day |
| 作曲 : Patrick Charles & Robert F. "Prince Rakeem" Diggs & Method Man | |
| 作词 : Charles, Diggs, Smith | |
| Suspect chin niggas, no win niggas | |
| Engineer that, sick ass high 7 | |
| Just a trouble on my ting-ting | |
| Raider Ruckus | |
| Doc noMore killa death trap | |
| Engineer that | |
| We're back | |
| Heavy artillery | |
| Street light clibering | |
| Street light yo | |
| Yo, yo, yo, yo | |
| Suspect chin niggas, no win niggas | |
| Send niggas back to go, try again niggas | |
| All hail me, the good the bag the ugly | |
| The money's around your way, lovely | |
| Where for art thou meth-tical | |
| God-childI pack a smile like crocodile profile | |
| Can't hold it down, oh the shit gon' hit the fan now | |
| Spin around let your whole crown man down, man down | |
| I live by the street code never old | |
| Never love a hoe, never flash the dough' | |
| Cause you never know who friend or foe | |
| Got block control solid gold thought | |
| Before the blow lets stroll through the ghetto habitat with no parole | |
| Never snitch switch which, keep a fresh pair of kicks | |
| Split the tongue snatch the weed | |
| In case the cops wanna strip search | |
| Think first prepare for the worst, when you do dirt | |
| Remember there's a million hungry niggas with the same thirst | |
| No doubt dummy out | |
| Bets pull the money out | |
| Niggas walk a funny route | |
| This is what its all about? | |
| Young guns and dum-dums | |
| Slum bums and sons | |
| Askin' niggas where they come from | |
| Get him for his one, um | |
| Sunshine, its crunch time | |
| Stranded on the front line | |
| Ducking from the one-time | |
| Niggas on the run, where the cameras can't come | |
| Make this one the anthem | |
| Ring around the | |
| RosiePocket full of grants | |
| Just because you wild in the club you ain't thug | |
| Sports gloves and gold mugs you ain't thug | |
| Tattoos and hard screws don't make you thug | |
| Sucker for love catch a slug, nigga | |
| Suspect chin niggas, no win niggas | |
| Send niggas back to go, try again niggas | |
| Shotgun slammin' in your chestpeice, blaow | |
| Shotgun slammin' in your chestpeice, blaow | |
| Carry your eyes and avoid spots | |
| Cell blocks rap blow you for your slide time | |
| What you got's mine | |
| We can take it to the yellow lines and we can pull nine | |
| Whether the rhyme or the crime | |
| I'ma still shine | |
| Heavy on the street talk cut your life support short | |
| Never had no love for you so it ain't no love lost | |
| Strictly enforced by the street stories get double crossed | |
| Hands off | |
| I run with the torch | |
| They got me fed up from the head up | |
| Put up or shut up on stage in them shiny get-up | |
| These niggas is funny, | |
| Energizer bunny actors | |
| They hustle backwards, son | |
| I think they gay rappers | |
| Say word, drop some stature, dog splash ya, party crash ya | |
| The spell casta, heard the same before and after its over | |
| Flood get your brain end the game, done its over | |
| End of the line out of time bitch it's over | |
| On the wrong street with no heat he was sober | |
| We soldiers somebody should've told ya | |
| Million dollar ice on your wrist don't make you thug' | |
| Cause a bitch is sucking your dick on your skit you ain't thug | |
| Bandannas and bad grammar don't make you thug | |
| Sucker for love catching slugs nigga | |
| Suspect chin niggas, no win niggas | |
| Send niggas back to go, try again niggas | |
| Shotgun slammin' in your chestpeice, blaow | |
| Shotgun slammin' in your chestpeice, blaow | |
| Suspect chin niggas, no win niggas | |
| Send niggas back to go, try again niggas | |
| Shotgun slammin' in your chestpeice, blaow | |
| Shotgun slammin' in your chestpeice, blaow | |
| With the W burning through your flesh | |
| Verbally possessed never second guess | |
| Blow minds like | |
| David Koresh | |
| Fuck a vest you need a gun to protect your assets | |
| Deep in the | |
| Aztecs break out before the sun set | |
| Street wars gimme yours crime is what | |
| I live for | |
| Got rhymes galore next time it's at the | |
| Wu storeIf you sleep late, next date is at the cest gate | |
| All you sober | |
| MC's, I leave y'all niggas half-baked | |
| Microphone is in a choke hold | |
| Losin' control bringing drama by the boatload | |
| It takes drama | |
| In the pillage now of | |
| Cappadonna | |
| My split persona hit their village and their baby mama | |
| Y'all niggas playing with this money while we stayed hungry | |
| And kept it pudgy it won't make me have to crash, dummy | |
| Before its over | |
| You should keep your chain tucked in | |
| And should never run your mouth with a suspect chin | |
| Now lay it down | |
| Just because you wild in the club you ain't thug | |
| Sports gloves and gold mugs you ain't thug | |
| Tattoos and hard screws don't make you thug | |
| Real thugs runnin' with hate and smash love |
| zuò qǔ : Patrick Charles Robert F. " Prince Rakeem" Diggs Method Man | |
| zuò cí : Charles, Diggs, Smith | |
| Suspect chin niggas, no win niggas | |
| Engineer that, sick ass high 7 | |
| Just a trouble on my tingting | |
| Raider Ruckus | |
| Doc noMore killa death trap | |
| Engineer that | |
| We' re back | |
| Heavy artillery | |
| Street light clibering | |
| Street light yo | |
| Yo, yo, yo, yo | |
| Suspect chin niggas, no win niggas | |
| Send niggas back to go, try again niggas | |
| All hail me, the good the bag the ugly | |
| The money' s around your way, lovely | |
| Where for art thou methtical | |
| GodchildI pack a smile like crocodile profile | |
| Can' t hold it down, oh the shit gon' hit the fan now | |
| Spin around let your whole crown man down, man down | |
| I live by the street code never old | |
| Never love a hoe, never flash the dough' | |
| Cause you never know who friend or foe | |
| Got block control solid gold thought | |
| Before the blow lets stroll through the ghetto habitat with no parole | |
| Never snitch switch which, keep a fresh pair of kicks | |
| Split the tongue snatch the weed | |
| In case the cops wanna strip search | |
| Think first prepare for the worst, when you do dirt | |
| Remember there' s a million hungry niggas with the same thirst | |
| No doubt dummy out | |
| Bets pull the money out | |
| Niggas walk a funny route | |
| This is what its all about? | |
| Young guns and dumdums | |
| Slum bums and sons | |
| Askin' niggas where they come from | |
| Get him for his one, um | |
| Sunshine, its crunch time | |
| Stranded on the front line | |
| Ducking from the onetime | |
| Niggas on the run, where the cameras can' t come | |
| Make this one the anthem | |
| Ring around the | |
| RosiePocket full of grants | |
| Just because you wild in the club you ain' t thug | |
| Sports gloves and gold mugs you ain' t thug | |
| Tattoos and hard screws don' t make you thug | |
| Sucker for love catch a slug, nigga | |
| Suspect chin niggas, no win niggas | |
| Send niggas back to go, try again niggas | |
| Shotgun slammin' in your chestpeice, blaow | |
| Shotgun slammin' in your chestpeice, blaow | |
| Carry your eyes and avoid spots | |
| Cell blocks rap blow you for your slide time | |
| What you got' s mine | |
| We can take it to the yellow lines and we can pull nine | |
| Whether the rhyme or the crime | |
| I' ma still shine | |
| Heavy on the street talk cut your life support short | |
| Never had no love for you so it ain' t no love lost | |
| Strictly enforced by the street stories get double crossed | |
| Hands off | |
| I run with the torch | |
| They got me fed up from the head up | |
| Put up or shut up on stage in them shiny getup | |
| These niggas is funny, | |
| Energizer bunny actors | |
| They hustle backwards, son | |
| I think they gay rappers | |
| Say word, drop some stature, dog splash ya, party crash ya | |
| The spell casta, heard the same before and after its over | |
| Flood get your brain end the game, done its over | |
| End of the line out of time bitch it' s over | |
| On the wrong street with no heat he was sober | |
| We soldiers somebody should' ve told ya | |
| Million dollar ice on your wrist don' t make you thug' | |
| Cause a bitch is sucking your dick on your skit you ain' t thug | |
| Bandannas and bad grammar don' t make you thug | |
| Sucker for love catching slugs nigga | |
| Suspect chin niggas, no win niggas | |
| Send niggas back to go, try again niggas | |
| Shotgun slammin' in your chestpeice, blaow | |
| Shotgun slammin' in your chestpeice, blaow | |
| Suspect chin niggas, no win niggas | |
| Send niggas back to go, try again niggas | |
| Shotgun slammin' in your chestpeice, blaow | |
| Shotgun slammin' in your chestpeice, blaow | |
| With the W burning through your flesh | |
| Verbally possessed never second guess | |
| Blow minds like | |
| David Koresh | |
| Fuck a vest you need a gun to protect your assets | |
| Deep in the | |
| Aztecs break out before the sun set | |
| Street wars gimme yours crime is what | |
| I live for | |
| Got rhymes galore next time it' s at the | |
| Wu storeIf you sleep late, next date is at the cest gate | |
| All you sober | |
| MC' s, I leave y' all niggas halfbaked | |
| Microphone is in a choke hold | |
| Losin' control bringing drama by the boatload | |
| It takes drama | |
| In the pillage now of | |
| Cappadonna | |
| My split persona hit their village and their baby mama | |
| Y' all niggas playing with this money while we stayed hungry | |
| And kept it pudgy it won' t make me have to crash, dummy | |
| Before its over | |
| You should keep your chain tucked in | |
| And should never run your mouth with a suspect chin | |
| Now lay it down | |
| Just because you wild in the club you ain' t thug | |
| Sports gloves and gold mugs you ain' t thug | |
| Tattoos and hard screws don' t make you thug | |
| Real thugs runnin' with hate and smash love |