Lyrics New York - Method Man

New York

Okay, Yeah, yeah,
Back for another one bitch, Let’s do it, Ha
Staten Island stand up,(okay)
Long Island stand up, (okay)
Jersey, Yeah, Brick City nigga
Funk Doc
Yo, I’ll start this rhyme with how y’all feel in this bitch
I’m finna to spit, got steel in my grip
But I ain’t talkin bout guns, I’m talkin mics, niggas stealin my shit
Then try to act like they ain’t feelin my shit
Now if we talkin bout ones, I’m Russell Simmons I be talkin in tongues
Fuck where you from and all the niggas you brung
Punk, My clan don’t sleep son, I put that on each one
Be cool until the heat come, these pussies might eat some
Nigga this is not pop music, unless your tryna pop shots to it
Why would you have that Glock and not use it
How could you hear this joint and not lose it
You stupid, You need to shot from cupid to get love for this music
Diamond in the ruff, Like iodine, Find me in the cut
If not, probably find me in a slut, if I buy me a Dutch
That means Mef Man’s back with the stuff, Lot of back talkin backin it up
Now I like bein the man, I like weed in my hands
I like my G’s in advance, But y’all don’t understand
Me no like, fake niggas that ain’t got the game right
Me no like, when y’all killas pop shit and can’t fight
Back in the zone, No backbone
He stepped on and spat on, niggas don’t last long
If I don’t get some act-right soon, I’m gonna act wrong
I ain’t tryin to get clapped on for makin these rap songs
If you’re misunderstood pimp, what would the hood think?
To know that I’ve been swindled, bamboozled, and hoodwinked
These rappers ain’t like me, they see that there might be
More to me then some Air Force Ones and a white tee, I’m nice B
6 foot 4, Un-cut raw, pocket full of straws, I’m that nigga to look for
Want paper like a book store, ain’t never been shook poor
I switch from Method Man to Candy Man and the hooked off
Still ain’t nothin sweet though, Who wanna spit flows
First learn to put the weed inside the bag and then get dough, (Then get dough
motherfucker)
Tell your peoples and kin folk, I been dope, Anything else is an insult.
(God damn right)
So obnoxious that I’m toxic, Call that diarrhea
Spit that hot shit, cause I’m hot bitch, And got butter-fingers
Oops I drops it, load and locks it, Take the recipe that’s been concocted
Got women just like a vehicle, Topless
First You see what I’m worth, Pullin paper straight out the wood work
Until I push dirt, Shit I hate to fuck up a good shirt
But damnit I’m back, I done relapsed, Shot a dose of some murder I wrote,
Then lean back
I’m part Ghost, Part Cappa, RZA, And Deck
Part Dirty, Uey, GZA, Masta Killa, And Chef
But I’m all Mef, All vet, Killers I’m complex
Niggas, Have yet to blow up, Nothin but bomb threats
New York yall, Shoot or shank me, I bleed Yankee
I’m hot dog, Yall ain’t nathan to put it frankly
I find excuses to finally lose it, Then write exclusive
And he like VH1, You know behind the music