Lyrics The Turn - Method Man, Raekwon

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.