Do What Ya Feel Lyrics
| Song | Do What Ya Feel |
| Artist | Redman |
| Album | T&D Basement Hits |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| Ha ha ha ha ha | |
| Follow just do what ya feel and I'm a follow | |
| I'm a follow just do what ya feel and we gon' follow | |
| Just do what ya feel and I'm a follow | |
| Just do what ya feel and I'm a follow | |
| Haha, Meth-Tical | |
| Who wanna flip with the acrobatic | |
| From ground zero all the way to attic | |
| What we be smokin', Tical | |
| The reservoir is now open | |
| I swim the English Channel backstrokin' | |
| You don't know me or my style | |
| We hold court and blow trial | |
| You catch 'cal when you browse through my X-Files | |
| Who be next now, man's down, hands down | |
| Foreground by your side when it go down | |
| I dedicate this next dart to my fucking heart | |
| Little Meth he the best part, now walk with that one word | |
| Time, time 4 Sum Aksion, dreamin' 'bout Toni Braxton | |
| Blowin' her back out like Bob Baglin | |
| I'm throwin' wrestling holds | |
| Tag team with Funk Doc, we in funk mode, take yo' best shot | |
| If it don't hip it don't hop | |
| If it don't quit it don't stop, that's the life | |
| I be the super-lyrical individual I be splittin' through | |
| That Teflon material to knock Big Ben off of schedule | |
| Better move with a set of tools | |
| I be doin' it to mics when I'm a, heterosexual | |
| I load the mic then cock, drop it like three quarters | |
| When I slaughter don't get caught in the water | |
| 'Cause the Brick's got it's own World Order | |
| Leave your bitch in shock like the third rail caught her | |
| Styles stay deeper than orca, I float the seven seas with ease | |
| Did more drugs than pharmacies | |
| So call me that lyrical Genovera, you can't compare | |
| Get you steppin' like stairs, frats, sororities | |
| Don't make me bring it on back I fuck up the majority | |
| Of niggaz lookin' hard at me, I Port 'em like Authority | |
| And when my nigga Meth shine | |
| Out the inner how high mobile rollin' three dimes at a time | |
| Redman and Method Man still | |
| (High, high) | |
| It's that Jersey representer | |
| Get hit from the bottom to your head when you enter | |
| Word, just do what ya feel and I'm a follow | |
| Just do what ya feel and I'm a follow | |
| Just do what ya feel and I'm a follow | |
| Funk Doc break it down | |
| Yo, suck my dick out of animosity | |
| The velocity will fly that head and freeze your camps like pottery | |
| To give lobotomies to all you rap colonies | |
| And shunt your million dollar investment, to economy | |
| Impossibly might be the one in black leather | |
| Name tag sayin' caution when wet by the track wetter' | |
| The hash spreader, I love the grimy shit | |
| Even my girl did grimy shit to me and I went back with her | |
| Three years for carrying a loaded handgun | |
| But it's forever when a nigga and he lands one to your cranium | |
| (Chik-chik blaow) | |
| That red dot on your forehead it's not 'cause you Arabian | |
| (Yo watch you say to him) | |
| You caught up in a tight situation | |
| I should start erasin' your whole organization for makin' | |
| Wack tunes while my whole platoon rock the basement | |
| You couldn't come close if I gave you my bookin' agent | |
| Or producer, royalty points twelve shot loaded Luger | |
| Even a crowd to get you souped up, you're still wack | |
| I peel caps, on the regular | |
| Destroy MC's et cetera, creep like the Predator | |
| Fuck you, your label moms and your editor | |
| Give you two to the jugular, blood be spreadin' | |
| All on my shirt, the king of the flirt shittin' | |
| Bitches hit me off more than New Edition | |
| (Tweet, tweet, tweet, tweet, tweet, tweet, tweet, tweet) | |
| I make them pigs heart skip a beat from the steel physique | |
| So Iron Lung | |
| (One me gun done) | |
| Get on the mic and break em off a sumthin' sumthin' | |
| We moonshine and grow crops | |
| Purchasin' the handhelds with the sure shots, it got me spittin' | |
| These slugs at my competition, in rap sessions | |
| U A P ain't got no weapon, you lip professin' | |
| Next in, line, parental discretion advised | |
| These explicit, street linguistics | |
| Better than yo' momma biscuits, we bomb shellin' | |
| I might know but ain't tellin', too bad you missed it | |
| Johnny, Dangerously Blaze another enemy made another due paid | |
| Color safe bleach so I don't fade | |
| Scar your mental with my double edged blade, razor sharp | |
| Get yo' band aids hold that | |
| Like E said, ‽Get the Bozack†| |
| Show them wack niggaz where the do's at | |
| On the case like I'm Kojak | |
| Kissin' the grits on that Flo' bitch, flip scripts take long shits | |
| Raider Ruckus one, I come with premeditated red rum | |
| Gingivitis to your filthy ass gums | |
| Bottom line either get down or get done, motherfucker |
| Ha ha ha ha ha | |
| Follow just do what ya feel and I' m a follow | |
| I' m a follow just do what ya feel and we gon' follow | |
| Just do what ya feel and I' m a follow | |
| Just do what ya feel and I' m a follow | |
| Haha, MethTical | |
| Who wanna flip with the acrobatic | |
| From ground zero all the way to attic | |
| What we be smokin', Tical | |
| The reservoir is now open | |
| I swim the English Channel backstrokin' | |
| You don' t know me or my style | |
| We hold court and blow trial | |
| You catch ' cal when you browse through my XFiles | |
| Who be next now, man' s down, hands down | |
| Foreground by your side when it go down | |
| I dedicate this next dart to my fucking heart | |
| Little Meth he the best part, now walk with that one word | |
| Time, time 4 Sum Aksion, dreamin' ' bout Toni Braxton | |
| Blowin' her back out like Bob Baglin | |
| I' m throwin' wrestling holds | |
| Tag team with Funk Doc, we in funk mode, take yo' best shot | |
| If it don' t hip it don' t hop | |
| If it don' t quit it don' t stop, that' s the life | |
| I be the superlyrical individual I be splittin' through | |
| That Teflon material to knock Big Ben off of schedule | |
| Better move with a set of tools | |
| I be doin' it to mics when I' m a, heterosexual | |
| I load the mic then cock, drop it like three quarters | |
| When I slaughter don' t get caught in the water | |
| ' Cause the Brick' s got it' s own World Order | |
| Leave your bitch in shock like the third rail caught her | |
| Styles stay deeper than orca, I float the seven seas with ease | |
| Did more drugs than pharmacies | |
| So call me that lyrical Genovera, you can' t compare | |
| Get you steppin' like stairs, frats, sororities | |
| Don' t make me bring it on back I fuck up the majority | |
| Of niggaz lookin' hard at me, I Port ' em like Authority | |
| And when my nigga Meth shine | |
| Out the inner how high mobile rollin' three dimes at a time | |
| Redman and Method Man still | |
| High, high | |
| It' s that Jersey representer | |
| Get hit from the bottom to your head when you enter | |
| Word, just do what ya feel and I' m a follow | |
| Just do what ya feel and I' m a follow | |
| Just do what ya feel and I' m a follow | |
| Funk Doc break it down | |
| Yo, suck my dick out of animosity | |
| The velocity will fly that head and freeze your camps like pottery | |
| To give lobotomies to all you rap colonies | |
| And shunt your million dollar investment, to economy | |
| Impossibly might be the one in black leather | |
| Name tag sayin' caution when wet by the track wetter' | |
| The hash spreader, I love the grimy shit | |
| Even my girl did grimy shit to me and I went back with her | |
| Three years for carrying a loaded handgun | |
| But it' s forever when a nigga and he lands one to your cranium | |
| Chikchik blaow | |
| That red dot on your forehead it' s not ' cause you Arabian | |
| Yo watch you say to him | |
| You caught up in a tight situation | |
| I should start erasin' your whole organization for makin' | |
| Wack tunes while my whole platoon rock the basement | |
| You couldn' t come close if I gave you my bookin' agent | |
| Or producer, royalty points twelve shot loaded Luger | |
| Even a crowd to get you souped up, you' re still wack | |
| I peel caps, on the regular | |
| Destroy MC' s et cetera, creep like the Predator | |
| Fuck you, your label moms and your editor | |
| Give you two to the jugular, blood be spreadin' | |
| All on my shirt, the king of the flirt shittin' | |
| Bitches hit me off more than New Edition | |
| Tweet, tweet, tweet, tweet, tweet, tweet, tweet, tweet | |
| I make them pigs heart skip a beat from the steel physique | |
| So Iron Lung | |
| One me gun done | |
| Get on the mic and break em off a sumthin' sumthin' | |
| We moonshine and grow crops | |
| Purchasin' the handhelds with the sure shots, it got me spittin' | |
| These slugs at my competition, in rap sessions | |
| U A P ain' t got no weapon, you lip professin' | |
| Next in, line, parental discretion advised | |
| These explicit, street linguistics | |
| Better than yo' momma biscuits, we bomb shellin' | |
| I might know but ain' t tellin', too bad you missed it | |
| Johnny, Dangerously Blaze another enemy made another due paid | |
| Color safe bleach so I don' t fade | |
| Scar your mental with my double edged blade, razor sharp | |
| Get yo' band aids hold that | |
| Like E said, Get the Bozack | |
| Show them wack niggaz where the do' s at | |
| On the case like I' m Kojak | |
| Kissin' the grits on that Flo' bitch, flip scripts take long shits | |
| Raider Ruckus one, I come with premeditated red rum | |
| Gingivitis to your filthy ass gums | |
| Bottom line either get down or get done, motherfucker |
| Ha ha ha ha ha | |
| Follow just do what ya feel and I' m a follow | |
| I' m a follow just do what ya feel and we gon' follow | |
| Just do what ya feel and I' m a follow | |
| Just do what ya feel and I' m a follow | |
| Haha, MethTical | |
| Who wanna flip with the acrobatic | |
| From ground zero all the way to attic | |
| What we be smokin', Tical | |
| The reservoir is now open | |
| I swim the English Channel backstrokin' | |
| You don' t know me or my style | |
| We hold court and blow trial | |
| You catch ' cal when you browse through my XFiles | |
| Who be next now, man' s down, hands down | |
| Foreground by your side when it go down | |
| I dedicate this next dart to my fucking heart | |
| Little Meth he the best part, now walk with that one word | |
| Time, time 4 Sum Aksion, dreamin' ' bout Toni Braxton | |
| Blowin' her back out like Bob Baglin | |
| I' m throwin' wrestling holds | |
| Tag team with Funk Doc, we in funk mode, take yo' best shot | |
| If it don' t hip it don' t hop | |
| If it don' t quit it don' t stop, that' s the life | |
| I be the superlyrical individual I be splittin' through | |
| That Teflon material to knock Big Ben off of schedule | |
| Better move with a set of tools | |
| I be doin' it to mics when I' m a, heterosexual | |
| I load the mic then cock, drop it like three quarters | |
| When I slaughter don' t get caught in the water | |
| ' Cause the Brick' s got it' s own World Order | |
| Leave your bitch in shock like the third rail caught her | |
| Styles stay deeper than orca, I float the seven seas with ease | |
| Did more drugs than pharmacies | |
| So call me that lyrical Genovera, you can' t compare | |
| Get you steppin' like stairs, frats, sororities | |
| Don' t make me bring it on back I fuck up the majority | |
| Of niggaz lookin' hard at me, I Port ' em like Authority | |
| And when my nigga Meth shine | |
| Out the inner how high mobile rollin' three dimes at a time | |
| Redman and Method Man still | |
| High, high | |
| It' s that Jersey representer | |
| Get hit from the bottom to your head when you enter | |
| Word, just do what ya feel and I' m a follow | |
| Just do what ya feel and I' m a follow | |
| Just do what ya feel and I' m a follow | |
| Funk Doc break it down | |
| Yo, suck my dick out of animosity | |
| The velocity will fly that head and freeze your camps like pottery | |
| To give lobotomies to all you rap colonies | |
| And shunt your million dollar investment, to economy | |
| Impossibly might be the one in black leather | |
| Name tag sayin' caution when wet by the track wetter' | |
| The hash spreader, I love the grimy shit | |
| Even my girl did grimy shit to me and I went back with her | |
| Three years for carrying a loaded handgun | |
| But it' s forever when a nigga and he lands one to your cranium | |
| Chikchik blaow | |
| That red dot on your forehead it' s not ' cause you Arabian | |
| Yo watch you say to him | |
| You caught up in a tight situation | |
| I should start erasin' your whole organization for makin' | |
| Wack tunes while my whole platoon rock the basement | |
| You couldn' t come close if I gave you my bookin' agent | |
| Or producer, royalty points twelve shot loaded Luger | |
| Even a crowd to get you souped up, you' re still wack | |
| I peel caps, on the regular | |
| Destroy MC' s et cetera, creep like the Predator | |
| Fuck you, your label moms and your editor | |
| Give you two to the jugular, blood be spreadin' | |
| All on my shirt, the king of the flirt shittin' | |
| Bitches hit me off more than New Edition | |
| Tweet, tweet, tweet, tweet, tweet, tweet, tweet, tweet | |
| I make them pigs heart skip a beat from the steel physique | |
| So Iron Lung | |
| One me gun done | |
| Get on the mic and break em off a sumthin' sumthin' | |
| We moonshine and grow crops | |
| Purchasin' the handhelds with the sure shots, it got me spittin' | |
| These slugs at my competition, in rap sessions | |
| U A P ain' t got no weapon, you lip professin' | |
| Next in, line, parental discretion advised | |
| These explicit, street linguistics | |
| Better than yo' momma biscuits, we bomb shellin' | |
| I might know but ain' t tellin', too bad you missed it | |
| Johnny, Dangerously Blaze another enemy made another due paid | |
| Color safe bleach so I don' t fade | |
| Scar your mental with my double edged blade, razor sharp | |
| Get yo' band aids hold that | |
| Like E said, Get the Bozack | |
| Show them wack niggaz where the do' s at | |
| On the case like I' m Kojak | |
| Kissin' the grits on that Flo' bitch, flip scripts take long shits | |
| Raider Ruckus one, I come with premeditated red rum | |
| Gingivitis to your filthy ass gums | |
| Bottom line either get down or get done, motherfucker |
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