Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song The Turn , by - Method Man. Release date: 31.12.2003
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
The Turn |
| Yeah, ah, yeah, yo, yo, yeah |
| Yeah, motivate, motivate, from the gate, ya’ll |
| Yeah, aiyo, aiyo, aiyo |
| Yo, we the Gods, still tear the whole hood apart |
| Darts that’ll splatter through faces, taste niggas hearts |
| I’m intellectual, plus professional |
| And Walbaums to vegetables |
| Shit is right here, like buyin' fly gear |
| Dare any white man or fan nigga, ran through niggas |
| Blew shotties in niggas lobbies, the grand RZA |
| We left, the radio broke, I yoke my vocals, hittin' green smoke |
| Allah Math', show me when the needle broke |
| Numb the whole crowd up, stupid ass Loud fouled up |
| Never knew what they had, now they proud of us |
| Picture my vision, precision, lines jumpin' out of commission |
| Divine got me, nigga, the boss, he pop me |
| Rae, we gotta generate, lord, I feel the Ditech, the mildew |
| Buy jets and vehicles, steal a little |
| Wrap up the whole rap government |
| Go 'head, ya’ll floss wit' it |
| Walk wit', I slap your boss wit' it |
| Navy blue, New York fitted, I’m cold frost bitted |
| Two puffs and off wit' it |
| You’ll smell the herb 'fore I lit it, the spots is forfeited |
| Blocks is hot, feel the shot from the fo'-fitty |
| With no regard for your boulevard, just the shit bag and bullet scar |
| It’s the Riddler, riddle me this, riddle me that |
| Who the pretender? |
| And who the door man that let them enter? |
| The Wu-Tang, 36 Cham', what you smokin'? |
| Got you in the game chokin', like Van Gundy coachin' |
| Your street team, bunch of weaklings |
| Don’t ever let me catch your reaching |
| Respect when a grown man is speaking |
| Shh, keep on sleeping, and just like TLC, I keep on Creeping |
| To five percent of ya’ll, keep on teachin' |
| The heat seeking missile official, that got issue |
| Like Funk Doc got snot tissue, it’s Hott Nikkels |
| «Everywhere I turn, I see, your face, but you’re never there» |
| Shh… shit ain’t over. |
| Okay, now, same shit, different day, grinding, gettin' paid |
| Self at it, automatic, guns that spit and spray |
| Gotta have it, ass grab it, time to slip and weight |
| Godbody, House your Party, watch the Kid N Play |
| Ya’ll gon' make me go postal, up in this muthafucka |
| House full of bloodsuckas and hoes that love hustlers |
| Roll that izza, pour me another kizza |
| Bigga, to my nigga, so drunk they can’t get up |
| Shotguns through nose, hot ones through foes |
| Let the herb spots run til' the cops come |
| Suppose I was just another stick in the mud |
| On a Saturday thinkin', how I’ma get the fifth in the club |
| See my crew thick, everyday I fights to prove it |
| We comes undisputed, with batteries included |
| Honey’s «bee» like Meth, I be like what? |
| They want some free CDs, I’m like «see these» nuts |
| If ya’ll muthafuckas gettin' high tonight, say all right, haha |
| If ya’ll muthafuckas gettin' drunk tonight, say all right, haha |
| It be Tical, ok, haha, yeah, yeah, ok |
| It be Tical, ok, haha, yeah. |