| Song | Da Ill Out |
| Artist | Redman |
| Album | Muddy Waters |
| 作词 : Murray, Noble, Phillips ... | |
| Yo Reggie, | |
| I'mout [Jamal] | |
| T-ree F Squad | |
| Muddy Waters | |
| Don't get it twisted... nigga [Redman] | |
| Aiyyo everybody in this motherfucker will get touched | |
| Fuck such and such, | |
| I roll tight like handcuffs | |
| Rock that ass to sleep with discrete techniques | |
| I beez that, freak of the week like | |
| I made Knee | |
| Deep Hold up! | |
| Rotate around the solar, badder than | |
| Cobra Composure never sleeps, my stream pumps | |
| Folgers I'm sauteein | |
| MC's with fried rice up in the wok without the | |
| MSG and chopped celery | |
| See, I made it, my flavor situated from the nickel plated mic that's hot, to leave your brain inflated | |
| Plus, I'm thick like | |
| Quakers on papers | |
| Bodacious | |
| MC's get turned to lower cases lettering, and the medicine, that | |
| I'm swallowin | |
| Get you hollerin, like | |
| Marvin Gaye when his father shot him in the chest, | |
| I roll with two stacks of | |
| Tecs And mad niggaz and sess that | |
| I roll up in your rest | |
| UHH! Mister | |
| Fantastic's crafted, with no 52nd ass kick | |
| When I'm blasted, my | |
| Method magics get drastic | |
| That you can't see with bifocals | |
| Watchin MC's go up and down like stock brokers | |
| I leave your brains on tilt, with ill skills that's milk | |
| That's rougher than jeans that | |
| Gloria Vander-bilt | |
| I'm poppin mad shit, plus | |
| I can back it | |
| Your man'll be like "Yo, get that dust off yo' jacket" [Keith Murray] | |
| It ain't a test or quiz that my | |
| Squad can't win | |
| Those who know the biz, know we wreck kids get biz | |
| Y'all digest, multiple stab wounds to the chest | |
| And I copycat kill the rest, with no | |
| Method to my madness | |
| Plus the apparatus with the baddest | |
| Determined to be the last man, standin on the planet | |
| Y'all get attached, like a blood-suckin leech | |
| When you fall into my rhythm of speech | |
| Your hands get embraced with a touch of the bass | |
| Head get wrapped up neck get thrown in a neck brace | |
| Rough rhyme mechanical, lyrical at it who? | |
| Will ironically chronically murder you and your crew | |
| My directive, through where | |
| I live, is kinda primitive | |
| See I get to the bottom of the problem, and make shit give | |
| Step in the jam, hooded and high, plastered the master cast to the masses grabs the mic | |
| Ten dollar rappers, is what | |
| L.O.D. goes after | |
| To my Squad, there's no matches, we bashes | |
| Do photo flashes on all flavor | |
| S-classes | |
| Bomb attack on wax, lyrical mini mac to your back | |
| Tie you up, throw you in the act | |
| A public figure, who walks around with a gin of jigger | |
| Cause I gives a fuck about another nigga, word up [Jamal] | |
| Muddy Waters, yo this is the way that my intro should go | |
| Drunk slow funk flow for | |
| Reggie Noble | |
| Fuck with me doe, | |
| Mally G doe it's not logic | |
| Playin that big shit get broke down microscopic | |
| Freak it back keep the track ringin, with the bassline | |
| It's major when you savor my flavor, can you taste mine | |
| Face the nine | |
| I lace your spine with short fat pace | |
| Around and round, avoidin the time to put it down | |
| Now's the time here yeah [Erick Sermon] | |
| Clown where, pick a spot | |
| Neutral grounds or not, we give a fuck, lick a shot [Jamal] | |
| Gangsta, so called killin, cap peelin | |
| Playalistic, | |
| I mean is all that shit realistic | |
| Play your cards | |
| God, black keep your hand held tight | |
| Night fall might call your life, shit is trife on these evil streets after dark | |
| Niggaz gettin sparked left and outlined in chalk | |
| New day, this whole shit's twisted (is it man) | |
| It's me bombin on these niggaz shitlist and | |
| Mally G open your eyes to see, recognize who be a | |
| G Hopin to ride in the, industry with | |
| E The villain's had it cause ahead (word up yeah) | |
| Killin my psychosomatic pattern mad (yeah) [Erick Sermon] | |
| Y'all know, uhh, yeah, | |
| Muddy Waters | |
| We out for nine-seven, word up, peace |
| zuò cí : Murray, Noble, Phillips ... | |
| Yo Reggie, | |
| I' mout Jamal | |
| Tree F Squad | |
| Muddy Waters | |
| Don' t get it twisted... nigga Redman | |
| Aiyyo everybody in this motherfucker will get touched | |
| Fuck such and such, | |
| I roll tight like handcuffs | |
| Rock that ass to sleep with discrete techniques | |
| I beez that, freak of the week like | |
| I made Knee | |
| Deep Hold up! | |
| Rotate around the solar, badder than | |
| Cobra Composure never sleeps, my stream pumps | |
| Folgers I' m sauteein | |
| MC' s with fried rice up in the wok without the | |
| MSG and chopped celery | |
| See, I made it, my flavor situated from the nickel plated mic that' s hot, to leave your brain inflated | |
| Plus, I' m thick like | |
| Quakers on papers | |
| Bodacious | |
| MC' s get turned to lower cases lettering, and the medicine, that | |
| I' m swallowin | |
| Get you hollerin, like | |
| Marvin Gaye when his father shot him in the chest, | |
| I roll with two stacks of | |
| Tecs And mad niggaz and sess that | |
| I roll up in your rest | |
| UHH! Mister | |
| Fantastic' s crafted, with no 52nd ass kick | |
| When I' m blasted, my | |
| Method magics get drastic | |
| That you can' t see with bifocals | |
| Watchin MC' s go up and down like stock brokers | |
| I leave your brains on tilt, with ill skills that' s milk | |
| That' s rougher than jeans that | |
| Gloria Vanderbilt | |
| I' m poppin mad shit, plus | |
| I can back it | |
| Your man' ll be like " Yo, get that dust off yo' jacket" Keith Murray | |
| It ain' t a test or quiz that my | |
| Squad can' t win | |
| Those who know the biz, know we wreck kids get biz | |
| Y' all digest, multiple stab wounds to the chest | |
| And I copycat kill the rest, with no | |
| Method to my madness | |
| Plus the apparatus with the baddest | |
| Determined to be the last man, standin on the planet | |
| Y' all get attached, like a bloodsuckin leech | |
| When you fall into my rhythm of speech | |
| Your hands get embraced with a touch of the bass | |
| Head get wrapped up neck get thrown in a neck brace | |
| Rough rhyme mechanical, lyrical at it who? | |
| Will ironically chronically murder you and your crew | |
| My directive, through where | |
| I live, is kinda primitive | |
| See I get to the bottom of the problem, and make shit give | |
| Step in the jam, hooded and high, plastered the master cast to the masses grabs the mic | |
| Ten dollar rappers, is what | |
| L. O. D. goes after | |
| To my Squad, there' s no matches, we bashes | |
| Do photo flashes on all flavor | |
| Sclasses | |
| Bomb attack on wax, lyrical mini mac to your back | |
| Tie you up, throw you in the act | |
| A public figure, who walks around with a gin of jigger | |
| Cause I gives a fuck about another nigga, word up Jamal | |
| Muddy Waters, yo this is the way that my intro should go | |
| Drunk slow funk flow for | |
| Reggie Noble | |
| Fuck with me doe, | |
| Mally G doe it' s not logic | |
| Playin that big shit get broke down microscopic | |
| Freak it back keep the track ringin, with the bassline | |
| It' s major when you savor my flavor, can you taste mine | |
| Face the nine | |
| I lace your spine with short fat pace | |
| Around and round, avoidin the time to put it down | |
| Now' s the time here yeah Erick Sermon | |
| Clown where, pick a spot | |
| Neutral grounds or not, we give a fuck, lick a shot Jamal | |
| Gangsta, so called killin, cap peelin | |
| Playalistic, | |
| I mean is all that shit realistic | |
| Play your cards | |
| God, black keep your hand held tight | |
| Night fall might call your life, shit is trife on these evil streets after dark | |
| Niggaz gettin sparked left and outlined in chalk | |
| New day, this whole shit' s twisted is it man | |
| It' s me bombin on these niggaz shitlist and | |
| Mally G open your eyes to see, recognize who be a | |
| G Hopin to ride in the, industry with | |
| E The villain' s had it cause ahead word up yeah | |
| Killin my psychosomatic pattern mad yeah Erick Sermon | |
| Y' all know, uhh, yeah, | |
| Muddy Waters | |
| We out for nineseven, word up, peace |