| Yeah… yeah… Allah Math…
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| Yeah… yo… yo…
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| Y’all ain’t never stopping the kid, why y’all knocking the king?
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| Would ya like a shot of liquor or like a shot to the rib?
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| Plus you stay on top of they grills, stay on top of they biz
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| Thinking niggas plotting on hairs, think they not when they is
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| This is Staten Island gully, you dig? |
| It’s getting ugly
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| And I ain’t found a court that can judge me, the block love me
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| Like nines to the side of the skully, popping they top
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| I’d rather pop bubbly, one for B.I.G. |
| and one for Pac
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| Nigga, trust me, I’m hot as they get, like Al Green
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| Getting hit by a pot of them grits, yo, nahmeen?
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| Y’all don’t really want no parts of this, soon as a nigga
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| Start shining, niggas start some shit, my guard lit
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| Like a boss, head nigga in charge, get in these drawers
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| Fitted, nine inches bigger than yours
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| This Meth dude got that food, and he serving it raw
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| Told you before, I bring the pain, and now I’m hurting them, pa
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| Hurting them, pa…
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| Up from the 36, back on that bullshit
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| Okay, I’m reloaded, strapped with a full clip
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| Staten Island’s the borough, Park Hill, we still click
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| Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, that’s the Clan, we run shit
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| Aiyo, you fucking with some capital G’s, Allah Math
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| Streetlife, Meth Man, plus the Masta and me
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| Soldier I, make it happen, indeed, my sick gift
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| Had the highest paid ho, get it cracking for free
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| Worldwide, still trapped in the P’s, Pioneers
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| Like the twenty inch woofers, that’s in back of the V
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| Leave ya brain, like you spazzing on E
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| It don’t matter who you happen to be, nothing swagger like he
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| Keep a dirty cop close, never talk with no feds
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| Tear the roof off the mother, right along with ya head
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| And I ain’t talk unless she talking bout bread
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| You would swear that I’m rocking New Balance, how I’m walking the ledge
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| Son, I’m just a little off of the edge, as I stalk
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| The mean streets, for paused types, callers are read
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| Killa Hill where the warriors bred, I’m a Resident
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| Patient, it’s gonna take more than the meds
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| Special invited guest, I came to put the rumors to rest
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| Rip the rest of the slugs through your chest
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| Put the chest to the back of your vest
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| Trap your packet, take the money and jet
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| Niggas posted, but you posing no threat
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| Punk, you pussy like the opposite sex
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| Front, see how many shots you will get
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| I’m not asking, I’m demanding respect
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| I’m just a man to respect
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| Watch your step, son, your funeral’s next
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| Streetlife is the man in the flesh, I got one hand on your neck
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| The other hand is attached to the tech
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| Your next move could mean life or death
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| Make move, take baby steps
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| Hold that thought, nigga, save your breath
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| We hold courts, in the streets, we rep
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| For Cash Rule, and we came to collect, cock sucker |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Everything, artist - Method Man. Album song 4:21...The Day After, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп