Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Presidential MC, artist - Method Man. Album song 4:21...The Day After, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 31.12.2005
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: The Island Def Jam
Song language: English
Presidential MC |
It’s that Blackout, spazzed out, G-String divas |
Leave you assed out, passed out, it’s cold |
Pack your heat up, blow your back out |
You bad mouth, make 'em all believers |
Throwing rocks from a glass house, y’all ain’t perfect either |
See that cheeba and that hash out (garbage day tomorrow) |
And I have yet to take that trash out, or emptied this cigar |
RZA, Rah, we amped, eh, Meth is on his job |
It ain’t nothing, like the French say; |
«che sera sera» |
So let’s move on, until the day we laying in the casket |
With them suits on, and I’m so cool that hell is only luke warm |
Been too strong, for too, long, I’ll probably die |
With my boots on, and on my way to cash a coochie coupon |
You know I’m, proper, don’t let them boys confuse you |
The fact is Meth, I’m harder than bottles made by Yoo-Hoo |
Wu-Tang, welcome to the House of Flying Daggers |
Where the truth aim, flying out the mouth of flying rappers |
There it is… |
Now, ask yourself, is this for real, it can’t be My, nigga, if it ain’t for real, it ain’t me |
I, elect myself as presidential M.C. |
I, elect myself as presidential M.C. |
Now, ask yourself, why is he so low key |
Why, is niggaz pimpin’when the game chose me |
I, elect myself as presidential M.C. |
I, elect myself as presidential M.C. |
Yo, blew 'em and hit 'em, and he went into a spin cycle |
Outblew his liver, a river flooded, what’s happening |
It’s drugs we wanted, gloves buttered, thug coverage |
This is Fila, white sneaker, Louis Vitton luggage |
I came, representative huddle, they all love you |
That W, the legacy of little niggaz muggin’you |
The fuck, what’s up with you, yo, you suck, nigga |
Benches used to pluck niggaz, we be on the roof, like «fuck you» |
Them red beams is coming, losers, got to walk the plank |
Users, with uzi’s on 'em, you move, you getting spanked |
Shank broilers banked, alcoholics ranked ballers |
They should call us, I rock mad ice like a walrus |
The lamesters decided to lure us, we was up in Freedomtown |
Getting weeded, one Bentley tour bus, you might like the mack and explore dust |
You can’t fuck with all of us, one of us dropped, there’s twenty more of us Peel caps like tangerines, you shook/shake like tamberines |
Then, jet from the set, in the all black Lamborghin' |
Nobody seen me, bitch in a tini red bikini |
Niggaz saw her, because they thought they saw a genie |
Heidi Klum, pussy juicy, fat as a plum |
Picture on the wall in jail, niggaz jerk til they come |
God gargantuan, large, colossus, bombardment of darts |
Make your squad, throw tantrums |
Practice karma sutra on broads, pop bra’s |
Leave birds with permanent scars, and shit like birthmarks |
Digi bark back at dogs, snatch flies from frogs |
Blow California chronic to despise the smog |
This shit I been with biz in the clearing, pigs sharing |
Got fresh, Wu-Wearing, motherfuckers not caring |
Then move through your community, with diplomat immunity |
Move to rep a two or G., shine like fine jewelry |
The Shadow Sword… Shadow Sword… |