Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Elements, artist - Method Man. Date of issue: 10.10.1998
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Elements |
| One more game |
| Yo, uh huh uh huh |
| Staar |
| Surround sounder, blunt smokin, remy downer |
| Hip-hop sizzar slingin my raw in your flounder |
| You get skidawed, undertakin' undergrounders |
| This lyricist, lounge with low, that be lounger |
| Aliens is out of townish, fuck applause |
| Niggas clap now with forty pounders, and fourty-fours |
| Is it all, fair in love with war |
| Young 'uns with guns, acting like they taking yours, uh |
| Live by the sword, they gonna die by the sword, uh |
| My vocal cords break the laws that apply to nature |
| Low and these niggas love to hate ya |
| Request the henney straight no chaser |
| Twin towerin' I skyscrape ya |
| Now gimme yours |
| Trifled disciple, arch rival reppin with weapons that homicidal |
| Star leaves you marked from the start like tribal scars |
| (Allah punk) I’m hazardous as a bomb and arms spinnin' like Christ |
| Recitin' psalms in the streets of Babylon |
| (Verbs I gather well) ??? |
| data shells |
| My squad camoflauge your wealth |
| Like the bible with parabels |
| With the navigator, spittin razor sharp, breath laser data |
| That’ll tickle you now, but sway you later |
| On this one call me Lee Major |
| Million dollar man, bionic or proffesor chronic |
| Still not a player, I just fuck alot the panty raider |
| Get shortys mad, they curse you wild on your sky pager |
| Stankin' ass |
| Yo Mr. Big Mouth, better duck down or bite the bullet |
| You niggas got guns but you scared to death to pull it |
| Bet if I pull my gun I’m gon' squeeze |
| I’m startin at your head, son, and stoppin' at your knees |
| I hate your screwmugs, rumble counterfeit thugs |
| Niggas want mine, bet they come and get it in blood |
| Fat potential, gave birth to a corrupt mental |
| Foul thoughts paralyzin temples, it’s just that simple |
| You better come with your best gun |
| Niggas be holdin', it’s all war no fun |
| Niggas be bowlin', you niggas under pressure now |
| My squads down for whatever with whoever now |
| Let’s get it on |
| Best to come with your best gun |
| Niggas be rollin', it’s all war no fun |
| Niggas be holdin', you niggas under pressure now |
| My squads down for whatever with whoever now |
| Let’s get it on |
| Arm leg shots to hit the spot like a four fifth Glock |
| We got this hip-hop shilock and all you clique got |
| Was lip lock, heavy heat, steady street sweepin your peeps |
| Hawks, machete chops puttin' cease to your petty fleets |
| This raw rebel got more metal than pop |
| And rock groups, when my Glock shoots the scores settled |
| A ground attack, I’m bound to clap rounds of rap |
| Clowns are found flat, face down around the map |
| Simple minds, cripple smiles, my rhymes are four five |
| The size oh two nines combine, can’t even tickle mine |
| I told you once, I told your ass a thousand times, chump |
| Body in the trunk, stay in line punk |
| Fuck wit me and mine |
| Yo |
| You be the actual, sixteen bars, comin' after you |
| Never go against my team, they might embarrass you |
| Slit-slang terrorist talk, fully armed |
| Put your hands up, I’mma put a hole in your paws |
| Ruin your side show, eyes low, brains fried from hydro |
| Two choices, bass off or either die slow |
| We all scholars when it’s time to clean a dirty dollar |
| Attack the boards, it’s like a rotweiler |
| Niggas comin out they shoes like they Usher |
| These motherfuckers on the run, and they socks from |
| The bounty hunter, Iron Lungster, rain and thunder |
| Here come the lightning now I’m strikin' back at niggas bitin' |
| Pushin' buttons just to step away from self-destruction |
| Inch and a half away from touchin' somethin' |
| Suckin' away from bustin' |
| Yall brothers laugh now and cry later |
| I rap from Alpha to Omega, sixty four to Sega |
| Whoopin' that ass, walk you dogs through the lookin' glass |
| Been burnin' MC’s since cookin' class |
| Makin' it hot like the summer in the crackspot |
| With blacktops, my nickle slot, triple bar, hit the jackpot |
| On each block, I’m the remedy, send them back to me |
| After detock, shorty got knuckles in the Reebok |
| Plus we got a problem with the Benz |
| (What's the problem with the Benz) |
| She want the six-hundred, but she ain’t got the ends |
| You better come with your best gun |
| Niggas be holdin', it’s all war no fun |
| Niggas be bowlin', you niggas under pressure now |
| My squads down for whatever with whoever now |
| Let’s get it on |