Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Father's Day, artist - Method Man. Album song Blackout! 2, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 31.12.2008
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: The Island Def Jam
Song language: English
Father's Day |
I wanna deal, with a bigger asshole |
The streets, it’s coming down hard |
We got to get our shit together |
We always had music, eating off the game |
Like you was never gon' run dry, that ain’t no business |
(No other game is run so disorganized |
Look around you, every hood that’s taking care of business |
Is together, dig it, tight?) |
I can’t spend my life running away |
For what it’s worth, how much dirt can I get done in a day? |
I got, clip in the AK (a blunt in the tray) |
I’m a beast (Fuck the police) N.W.A. |
Ya’ll play this game that the huster’s play |
And if you dress in the metrosexual way, then muthafucka, you gay |
Ya’ll can save this drama for Kay Slay, like who’s fucking my chick |
Or writing books about sucking my dick |
Now I don’t give a fuck what they say, cuz once I put on my cool |
They see my life and wanna put on my shoes |
Top of the world, ma, look at your dude |
I dig a chick with an attitude, but I don’t let her cook up my food |
It’s like these young niggas hugging the strip |
Who got the power to move bricks and buildings never loving the bitch |
Stripping with game, ya’ll can guzzle a sip, ain’t nothing change |
My niggas is off the chain, and we don’t muzzle the pit, a-ha |
«Can I get a suuuuuuuu?» |
«Aiyo, this bounce right here for all my Wu-Tang muthafuckas in the house, |
tonight» |
Soon as I, pick up my pen, I begin my flow |
I close my eyes then write rhymes in a Blackout mode |
My uzi, weigh over a ton, CD plays over |
I do my crime with baking soda, with no odor |
Pull out like boat motor streams, crack your shoulder wing |
Def Squad decoder ring, psychopath bordering |
My dogs shitting on your lawn, while you watering |
Pay the fine, audit him and shit on your lawn again |
D.O.C. |
get it, C.O.D., my hood |
P.O.P., nigga, N.J. deep, baby |
Jersey state of mind, Method Man, lock 'em in |
Ya’ll niggas give a fuck, punk, we the opposite, yup |
I hear you gossipping, cuz we on |
Just because I rock, don’t mean I’m made of stone |
My bones is sturdy, I wake up to get it early |
When I bully the streets, my Co-D is Keith Murray |
In a hurry, back down, the boy roll with us |
This how it sound when them boys is transmitted |
Bricks to Staten Island, where babies turn into killers |
That’s why my Cadillac bare more arms than caterpillers, let’s get it |
«Can I get a suuuuuuuu?» |
«Aiyo, this bounce right here for all my Wu-Tang muthafuckas in the house, |
tonight» |