Who Ya Rollin Wit - Album Version (Explicit) Lyrics
| Song | Who Ya Rollin Wit - Album Version (Explicit) |
| Artist | Method Man |
| Album | Tical 0: The Prequel |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作曲 : Clifford Smith & D. Drew & R. Buggs | |
| 作词 : Buggs, Drew, Smith | |
| Uh... what's really good? | |
| Yo, yo, yo... | |
| [Method Man] | |
| It's the unstoppable, overcome any obstacle | |
| Y'all know my flavor, pack more punch than Tropical | |
| Any mission possible, do what I gots to do | |
| Labels gettin' butterfingers, and next they droppin' you | |
| You think you know, but you have no idea | |
| The Diary of a Meth Man, what's this I hear? | |
| Somebody told y'all, steppin' in shit was good luck? | |
| I got the hood stuck, chh-chh, now give the goods up | |
| Y'all done pushed up, past the point of no return | |
| It's Meth's turn, so roll that shit up and let's burn | |
| I heard Philly got the best 'scherm, out in Cali, they got the best perms | |
| Now that we know, when will the rest learn? | |
| Come on, each one, teach one, hear no evil, and I don't speak none | |
| Everything cool until that heat come | |
| Just call my name, and I'll be there | |
| Y'all kids is slum, like the jewelry in Albi Square | |
| [Chorus: Streetlife (Shawnna)] | |
| We drinkin' Henny 'til we flip, poppin' bottles 'til we sick | |
| All y'all haters eat a dick (yeah, uh) | |
| Let's throw a party in this bitch, all my niggaz and my chicks | |
| Tell me who y'all rollin' with (yeah) | |
| [Hook 2X: Streetlife (Method Man)] | |
| Method spits fire (Fire!) The roof's on (Fire!) My crew's on (Fire!) | |
| [Streetlife] | |
| M-E-T, H-O-D.. | |
| [Method Man] | |
| Man, I'm in the house like foreclosures | |
| Talk sober, until some dog gets forced over | |
| New York soldiers, be at ease, fall back | |
| Never ever, I'm the New Era, like ball caps | |
| Kid, whenever, whoever, whatever, y'all want it | |
| Y'all can have it, the problem and answer, I'm all that | |
| While we at it, let's tighten up our grips around that cabbage | |
| Silly rabbit, how many kid's done tricked you on your carrots | |
| The product of a bad package, like Bishop Don Juan it's Magic | |
| How I break 'em like a bad habit, hit tracks like it's target practice | |
| Then let these darts take a stab at it | |
| Niggaz ain't got it, ain't never had it | |
| I jam like L.A. traffic, Jellyroll behind the wheel | |
| And the passenger seat behind the field | |
| It's your boy, physically fit, mentally sick | |
| Get dirty money, told you honey, I'm filthy rich | |
| [Chorus] | |
| [Hook 2X w/o "fire" the second time] | |
| [Interlude: Method Man] | |
| Yeah, y'all niggaz don't know it's a game | |
| Until it starts again, let's do it, haha! | |
| [Method Man] | |
| Six minutes, Method Man, you're on | |
| If you thinkin' you gon' slip and be all right, you're wrong | |
| You can see me lightin' the bong, while writin' the songs | |
| That the crowd, is either singin' to or fightin' along, fightin' along | |
| I'm try'nna tell you drugs is not your friends | |
| And girlfriend, don't try and front like you got your friend | |
| I'm at the hotel, motel, Holiday Inn | |
| And my chick's a man-eater, she be swallowin' men | |
| Aight, live from New York, it's Saturday night | |
| I got pipes that drain your confidence, and battery light | |
| Aight, mami tight, but she ain't really my type | |
| If y'all don't see me treat her right, then she ain't really my wife | |
| When I was young, I was stayin' in school, obeyin' rules | |
| Play with my food, what makes you think I'm playin' with you? | |
| This is it, y'all better come on in, the water's fine | |
| Jump on in, let's do it to 'em one more 'gain | |
| [Chorus] | |
| [Hook 2X] | |
| [Chorus] | |
| [Outro: Method Man] | |
| Yeah, Ladies Love Big John Studd | |
| No doubt, dick up in your mouth | |
| We do this shit everyday, I'm in the cut | |
| With my main shit stain, Ray-Ray Gutter Butt | |
| And we holdin' it down for the whole Staten Island, man | |
| Nothin' else but Staten Island, man | |
| Y'all stand up, man, Stapleton, the Wild West, Park Hill | |
| Port Richmond, Now Born, Jungle Nilz, hah... Peace! |
| zuo qu : Clifford Smith D. Drew R. Buggs | |
| zuo ci : Buggs, Drew, Smith | |
| Uh... what' s really good? | |
| Yo, yo, yo... | |
| Method Man | |
| It' s the unstoppable, overcome any obstacle | |
| Y' all know my flavor, pack more punch than Tropical | |
| Any mission possible, do what I gots to do | |
| Labels gettin' butterfingers, and next they droppin' you | |
| You think you know, but you have no idea | |
| The Diary of a Meth Man, what' s this I hear? | |
| Somebody told y' all, steppin' in shit was good luck? | |
| I got the hood stuck, chhchh, now give the goods up | |
| Y' all done pushed up, past the point of no return | |
| It' s Meth' s turn, so roll that shit up and let' s burn | |
| I heard Philly got the best ' scherm, out in Cali, they got the best perms | |
| Now that we know, when will the rest learn? | |
| Come on, each one, teach one, hear no evil, and I don' t speak none | |
| Everything cool until that heat come | |
| Just call my name, and I' ll be there | |
| Y' all kids is slum, like the jewelry in Albi Square | |
| Chorus: Streetlife Shawnna | |
| We drinkin' Henny ' til we flip, poppin' bottles ' til we sick | |
| All y' all haters eat a dick yeah, uh | |
| Let' s throw a party in this bitch, all my niggaz and my chicks | |
| Tell me who y' all rollin' with yeah | |
| Hook 2X: Streetlife Method Man | |
| Method spits fire Fire! The roof' s on Fire! My crew' s on Fire! | |
| Streetlife | |
| MET, HOD.. | |
| Method Man | |
| Man, I' m in the house like foreclosures | |
| Talk sober, until some dog gets forced over | |
| New York soldiers, be at ease, fall back | |
| Never ever, I' m the New Era, like ball caps | |
| Kid, whenever, whoever, whatever, y' all want it | |
| Y' all can have it, the problem and answer, I' m all that | |
| While we at it, let' s tighten up our grips around that cabbage | |
| Silly rabbit, how many kid' s done tricked you on your carrots | |
| The product of a bad package, like Bishop Don Juan it' s Magic | |
| How I break ' em like a bad habit, hit tracks like it' s target practice | |
| Then let these darts take a stab at it | |
| Niggaz ain' t got it, ain' t never had it | |
| I jam like L. A. traffic, Jellyroll behind the wheel | |
| And the passenger seat behind the field | |
| It' s your boy, physically fit, mentally sick | |
| Get dirty money, told you honey, I' m filthy rich | |
| Chorus | |
| Hook 2X w o " fire" the second time | |
| Interlude: Method Man | |
| Yeah, y' all niggaz don' t know it' s a game | |
| Until it starts again, let' s do it, haha! | |
| Method Man | |
| Six minutes, Method Man, you' re on | |
| If you thinkin' you gon' slip and be all right, you' re wrong | |
| You can see me lightin' the bong, while writin' the songs | |
| That the crowd, is either singin' to or fightin' along, fightin' along | |
| I' m try' nna tell you drugs is not your friends | |
| And girlfriend, don' t try and front like you got your friend | |
| I' m at the hotel, motel, Holiday Inn | |
| And my chick' s a maneater, she be swallowin' men | |
| Aight, live from New York, it' s Saturday night | |
| I got pipes that drain your confidence, and battery light | |
| Aight, mami tight, but she ain' t really my type | |
| If y' all don' t see me treat her right, then she ain' t really my wife | |
| When I was young, I was stayin' in school, obeyin' rules | |
| Play with my food, what makes you think I' m playin' with you? | |
| This is it, y' all better come on in, the water' s fine | |
| Jump on in, let' s do it to ' em one more ' gain | |
| Chorus | |
| Hook 2X | |
| Chorus | |
| Outro: Method Man | |
| Yeah, Ladies Love Big John Studd | |
| No doubt, dick up in your mouth | |
| We do this shit everyday, I' m in the cut | |
| With my main shit stain, RayRay Gutter Butt | |
| And we holdin' it down for the whole Staten Island, man | |
| Nothin' else but Staten Island, man | |
| Y' all stand up, man, Stapleton, the Wild West, Park Hill | |
| Port Richmond, Now Born, Jungle Nilz, hah... Peace! |
| zuò qǔ : Clifford Smith D. Drew R. Buggs | |
| zuò cí : Buggs, Drew, Smith | |
| Uh... what' s really good? | |
| Yo, yo, yo... | |
| Method Man | |
| It' s the unstoppable, overcome any obstacle | |
| Y' all know my flavor, pack more punch than Tropical | |
| Any mission possible, do what I gots to do | |
| Labels gettin' butterfingers, and next they droppin' you | |
| You think you know, but you have no idea | |
| The Diary of a Meth Man, what' s this I hear? | |
| Somebody told y' all, steppin' in shit was good luck? | |
| I got the hood stuck, chhchh, now give the goods up | |
| Y' all done pushed up, past the point of no return | |
| It' s Meth' s turn, so roll that shit up and let' s burn | |
| I heard Philly got the best ' scherm, out in Cali, they got the best perms | |
| Now that we know, when will the rest learn? | |
| Come on, each one, teach one, hear no evil, and I don' t speak none | |
| Everything cool until that heat come | |
| Just call my name, and I' ll be there | |
| Y' all kids is slum, like the jewelry in Albi Square | |
| Chorus: Streetlife Shawnna | |
| We drinkin' Henny ' til we flip, poppin' bottles ' til we sick | |
| All y' all haters eat a dick yeah, uh | |
| Let' s throw a party in this bitch, all my niggaz and my chicks | |
| Tell me who y' all rollin' with yeah | |
| Hook 2X: Streetlife Method Man | |
| Method spits fire Fire! The roof' s on Fire! My crew' s on Fire! | |
| Streetlife | |
| MET, HOD.. | |
| Method Man | |
| Man, I' m in the house like foreclosures | |
| Talk sober, until some dog gets forced over | |
| New York soldiers, be at ease, fall back | |
| Never ever, I' m the New Era, like ball caps | |
| Kid, whenever, whoever, whatever, y' all want it | |
| Y' all can have it, the problem and answer, I' m all that | |
| While we at it, let' s tighten up our grips around that cabbage | |
| Silly rabbit, how many kid' s done tricked you on your carrots | |
| The product of a bad package, like Bishop Don Juan it' s Magic | |
| How I break ' em like a bad habit, hit tracks like it' s target practice | |
| Then let these darts take a stab at it | |
| Niggaz ain' t got it, ain' t never had it | |
| I jam like L. A. traffic, Jellyroll behind the wheel | |
| And the passenger seat behind the field | |
| It' s your boy, physically fit, mentally sick | |
| Get dirty money, told you honey, I' m filthy rich | |
| Chorus | |
| Hook 2X w o " fire" the second time | |
| Interlude: Method Man | |
| Yeah, y' all niggaz don' t know it' s a game | |
| Until it starts again, let' s do it, haha! | |
| Method Man | |
| Six minutes, Method Man, you' re on | |
| If you thinkin' you gon' slip and be all right, you' re wrong | |
| You can see me lightin' the bong, while writin' the songs | |
| That the crowd, is either singin' to or fightin' along, fightin' along | |
| I' m try' nna tell you drugs is not your friends | |
| And girlfriend, don' t try and front like you got your friend | |
| I' m at the hotel, motel, Holiday Inn | |
| And my chick' s a maneater, she be swallowin' men | |
| Aight, live from New York, it' s Saturday night | |
| I got pipes that drain your confidence, and battery light | |
| Aight, mami tight, but she ain' t really my type | |
| If y' all don' t see me treat her right, then she ain' t really my wife | |
| When I was young, I was stayin' in school, obeyin' rules | |
| Play with my food, what makes you think I' m playin' with you? | |
| This is it, y' all better come on in, the water' s fine | |
| Jump on in, let' s do it to ' em one more ' gain | |
| Chorus | |
| Hook 2X | |
| Chorus | |
| Outro: Method Man | |
| Yeah, Ladies Love Big John Studd | |
| No doubt, dick up in your mouth | |
| We do this shit everyday, I' m in the cut | |
| With my main shit stain, RayRay Gutter Butt | |
| And we holdin' it down for the whole Staten Island, man | |
| Nothin' else but Staten Island, man | |
| Y' all stand up, man, Stapleton, the Wild West, Park Hill | |
| Port Richmond, Now Born, Jungle Nilz, hah... Peace! |
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