| Song | Party Crasher |
| Artist | Method Man |
| Album | Tical 2000: Judgement Day |
| 作曲 : Derrick Harris & Method Man | |
| 作词 : Harris, Smith | |
| Intro：club bouncer | |
| Aww shit... not these niggaz again! | |
| Aiyyo listen! | |
| I'm only lettin five of you motherfuckers in here tonight | |
| If your man ain't on the guest list | |
| He get to the BACJ of the fuckin line | |
| And you know another motherfuckin thing? | |
| I don't give a fuck if a bitch spill a drink | |
| in this motherfucker tonight | |
| I'm kickin ALL y'all the fuck outta here | |
| [Method Man] | |
| Uhh | |
| Muh'fuckers be up in the club scared to fuckin death | |
| Nigga if you scared why don't yo' ass just stay the fuck home | |
| Check it out uhh | |
| Me and mines at the door, ain't tryin to pay your fees | |
| Stop playin, you fuckin with me, I push my way in | |
| Bum rush there's plenty of us to tear the club up | |
| Guzzlin Bacardi and such, I split a Dutch | |
| Bouncin nigga lookin like he want war | |
| Now I ain't the one you got to front Pah | |
| Pattin me down like the law | |
| As I stumble in the party | |
| Topsey off the Limon Bacardi for sure | |
| Loungin near the bar section, rolled the L | |
| and kept steppin, concealed weapon, razor sharp | |
| Blue star hatchet, in the sleeve of my jacket | |
| Who that kid, on the dance floor lookin for matches? | |
| Burn somethin, one toke got me blasted | |
| Took another toke then I passed it, choke! | |
| Fantastic, herb ain't no joke | |
| Especially that indo smoke mixed with hashish | |
| Ladies on the dance floor, shakin they asses | |
| Got millon dollar broke niggaz, that makin passes | |
| Honey with the eye glasses, body work is Boombastic | |
| Skin like blackberry molasses, mmmmm | |
| At last it's, time to step and make her mine | |
| Niggas headin toward the bathroom tuckin they shines | |
| Brothers got to keep it movin, playin with kids | |
| that won't hesitate to snatch a Cuban | |
| You know what this is... | |
| ("Yo Duke that's your diamonds right there God? | |
| Yo that shit'll go RIGHT where my people ain't right now.." | |
| "Yo don't touch my shit!") | |
| Now it's on in the lavatory, I heard a scream | |
| End of story couldn't find shorty, party scene's | |
| now a fucked up chaotic thing, won't be long | |
| before the sirens intervene, the terrotory | |
| Can't we all get along, without the ruckus | |
| Got big bouncin muh'fuckers, tryin to rush us | |
| I can take a hint, what? Can smell the stench | |
| of a hell bent environment, the odds against us | |
| Back to the wall y'all, refuse to fall | |
| All hands on deck yes, prepare to brawl | |
| Uhh, every time I try to have a good time why? | |
| Somebody always fuckin it up, killin my high, damn | |
| Monkey wrench they whole program, party over | |
| By that time I'm dead sober | |
| In the midst of this whole shit fo' soldiers, dead gone | |
| You can tell that they was heat holders | |
| Everybody hit the deck when they expose tech, I fled the set | |
| Bitch slipped and caught a broke neck, some Brooklyn kids | |
| rushed the coat check, they whole set, stompin Duke | |
| half to death and took his Rolex, it's horrible | |
| Like a front page article, Mister Pitiful | |
| About a step away now we critical, uhh | |
| As I boned out I heard the people shout | |
| NIGGAZ, yea cold turn the party out! | |
| Uh uh uh uh uh uh uh | |
| ( sirens ) |
| zuò qǔ : Derrick Harris Method Man | |
| zuò cí : Harris, Smith | |
| Intro: club bouncer | |
| Aww shit... not these niggaz again! | |
| Aiyyo listen! | |
| I' m only lettin five of you motherfuckers in here tonight | |
| If your man ain' t on the guest list | |
| He get to the BACJ of the fuckin line | |
| And you know another motherfuckin thing? | |
| I don' t give a fuck if a bitch spill a drink | |
| in this motherfucker tonight | |
| I' m kickin ALL y' all the fuck outta here | |
| Method Man | |
| Uhh | |
| Muh' fuckers be up in the club scared to fuckin death | |
| Nigga if you scared why don' t yo' ass just stay the fuck home | |
| Check it out uhh | |
| Me and mines at the door, ain' t tryin to pay your fees | |
| Stop playin, you fuckin with me, I push my way in | |
| Bum rush there' s plenty of us to tear the club up | |
| Guzzlin Bacardi and such, I split a Dutch | |
| Bouncin nigga lookin like he want war | |
| Now I ain' t the one you got to front Pah | |
| Pattin me down like the law | |
| As I stumble in the party | |
| Topsey off the Limon Bacardi for sure | |
| Loungin near the bar section, rolled the L | |
| and kept steppin, concealed weapon, razor sharp | |
| Blue star hatchet, in the sleeve of my jacket | |
| Who that kid, on the dance floor lookin for matches? | |
| Burn somethin, one toke got me blasted | |
| Took another toke then I passed it, choke! | |
| Fantastic, herb ain' t no joke | |
| Especially that indo smoke mixed with hashish | |
| Ladies on the dance floor, shakin they asses | |
| Got millon dollar broke niggaz, that makin passes | |
| Honey with the eye glasses, body work is Boombastic | |
| Skin like blackberry molasses, mmmmm | |
| At last it' s, time to step and make her mine | |
| Niggas headin toward the bathroom tuckin they shines | |
| Brothers got to keep it movin, playin with kids | |
| that won' t hesitate to snatch a Cuban | |
| You know what this is... | |
| " Yo Duke that' s your diamonds right there God? | |
| Yo that shit' ll go RIGHT where my people ain' t right now.." | |
| " Yo don' t touch my shit!" | |
| Now it' s on in the lavatory, I heard a scream | |
| End of story couldn' t find shorty, party scene' s | |
| now a fucked up chaotic thing, won' t be long | |
| before the sirens intervene, the terrotory | |
| Can' t we all get along, without the ruckus | |
| Got big bouncin muh' fuckers, tryin to rush us | |
| I can take a hint, what? Can smell the stench | |
| of a hell bent environment, the odds against us | |
| Back to the wall y' all, refuse to fall | |
| All hands on deck yes, prepare to brawl | |
| Uhh, every time I try to have a good time why? | |
| Somebody always fuckin it up, killin my high, damn | |
| Monkey wrench they whole program, party over | |
| By that time I' m dead sober | |
| In the midst of this whole shit fo' soldiers, dead gone | |
| You can tell that they was heat holders | |
| Everybody hit the deck when they expose tech, I fled the set | |
| Bitch slipped and caught a broke neck, some Brooklyn kids | |
| rushed the coat check, they whole set, stompin Duke | |
| half to death and took his Rolex, it' s horrible | |
| Like a front page article, Mister Pitiful | |
| About a step away now we critical, uhh | |
| As I boned out I heard the people shout | |
| NIGGAZ, yea cold turn the party out! | |
| Uh uh uh uh uh uh uh | |
| sirens |