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Chorus: |
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Show & A.G. got the flavas (the flavas) |
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Rollin with the dwellas and the neighbors (the neighbors) |
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Show & A.G. got the flavas (the flavas) |
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Rollin with the dwellas and the neighbors (the neighbors) |
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(D. Flow) |
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Hey yo no question I'm the best in this rap business |
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No doubt I'm strapped, get back or get clapped rediculous son |
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I'm flippin this one (don't be dumb) |
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You better run or end up like my last victim |
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Shit that's real I already been through |
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Scared from the threats I sent you (it's all in the mental) |
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Jackin niggas like I'm in the Central |
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Cuttin through that ass like a Ginsu as I commense to |
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Get big with my nigs, A.G. & Showbiz |
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Now your idol was doin vital damage to your ribs |
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Word straight up and down, crab MCs get crushed |
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I'll leave your style cramped, my crew can't be touched |
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So when you hear the bomb you know it's D. Flow son |
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No one can fuck around, yeah that's right (no one) |
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(Wali World) |
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Hey yo the honies on the dilz cause I play ball good (it's all good) |
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I'm still representin the hood |
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Big shouts to Uncle Pete, you're my number one neighbor |
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No doubt I'm puffin later with my nigga Gary Aida |
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Peace to Roc Raider and all the goodfellas |
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People gettin jealous, well it's the brothers (the brothers) |
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On some other shit can't forget Shabazz |
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Representin not to mention that I'm gettin cash |
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Get with that or get with this because I'm kickin this |
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With the styles I'm runnin through niggas like Emmit Smith |
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(Party Arty) |
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Touchdown, I buck down MCs that step up |
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10 G's if you wanna MC wrecked up |
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The ghetto dwella's in your hood, hoodie down |
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Stomps from the Bronx, the boogie man from the Boogie Down |
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Momma never told me there would be days like this |
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That I'd be rippin tracks, gettin paid with my nigs |
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On tour, roar with that hardcore stuff |
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Niggas call bluffs (I give em no chance) I make it more rough |
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(And even slow dance) on niggas faces, rugged, fuck it |
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Them niggas got to love it cause we made this |
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I'm gettin papers with my peeps |
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As Party Arty keeps Bacardi so MCs meet the shotty |
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(A.G.) |
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Check the method but don't sweat the technique |
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Even made the baddest dime bitches get weak when the vets speak |
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(Hopin) That your head meets my bed sheets |
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(Now you're open) Like the Red Sea cause I'm potent |
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Don't fit? Don't force it, Flow got that 4-fifth |
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Who do with that voodoo, my doll it's that cordless |
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All this and that and then some |
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Get paid to put raps on tracks, I guess that's my income |
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The beat chills so they be comin back for refills |
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(My man shows his street skills) From here to the Peekskills |
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Kill the rumors, givin MCs brain tumors |
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Time to step off the set, gotta jet like Puma |
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Chorus (2x) |
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(Method Man) |
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What the blood clot, son lick a shot, show your love in the area |
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Forget me not, mass hysteria |
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My style revolves around blunts, the Methical |
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The one and only piece original, never phony |
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One love to my muthafucker A.G. |
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A true giant in the industry, hold your shoes up |
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(Word to God, youknowI'msayin) |
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Yeah, that's how it's goin down, you know who got the flava |
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We got the flava, the flava |
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So bring it on, so bring it on, all you muthafuckin corns, yeah |
