Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Dangerous Grounds , by - Method Man. Release date: 31.12.1997
Song language: English
Dangerous Grounds |
| Yeah, yeah, yeah, yo, yo, yo |
| All them real live motherfuckin' niggas |
| Step up front right now, it’s goin' down |
| One love to Long Island, Hempstead in my heart, baby |
| Shaolin what? |
| Come on, come on |
| Dangerous ground, tre pound, seven spin around |
| For my bredren the clouds come down |
| War and peace, I take it to the street |
| Land shark on my lawn, chop the thumbs off a thief |
| And curse his first born, is this thing on? |
| Send 'em to the children of the corn we the people |
| See, niggas through the eye of the Demon |
| My lethal injection, destroyin' evil |
| Hot Nikkel, private eye, one pistol |
| Aimin' at your brain tissue, do or die |
| Said the spider to the fly, «Could this one be tasty?» |
| Like momma apple pie goodness, Johnny Blaze me |
| On the job like Dick Tracy |
| Hit the cure for that ill shit like Ben Casey, M. D |
| Symbolic thrill like God he shocked it |
| Like a finger in a light socket |
| Too good to be forgotten, in the rotten apple |
| I kick dirt on your sand castle, check the flavor all natural |
| (Beat your feet) |
| Hot Niks, son |
| (Heat-mizer) |
| Before you get the main course |
| (Taste a appetizer) |
| Submerged in the word |
| Heavy headed verbal that smack you |
| Mentally disturb you, attack you |
| Thirty-six chamb' once again comin' at you |
| Young gun got the body snatch you observe |
| Wise words you can only see through the third |
| I fall way beyond the norm on the verb |
| Shine on mental nourishment, you can dine on |
| Track yellin' at me, «Get yo, God» |
| is hard, regardless to whom or what |
| They all movin' targets, Allah |
| Runnin' through your house and your block party, with rap shotty |
| And hot rock the body body, St. Bernards |
| Couldn’t save your entourage, rap lobotomy |
| Leave ya mentally scarred, numb and possibly |
| Dumb deaf and blind, is it? |
| I kick the spine out the battery backs |
| Fuckin' with mine, keep it movin' |
| Now, everybody just throw your hands in the |
| What the fuck? |
| Peace, who this? |
| Mind detect mind, I P.L.O. |
| your startin' line, deep Space Nine |
| Designed for knuckleheads who bust guns and throw signs |
| Let’s converse, snatch the tap from your purse |
| Body-surf on the verse head first |
| Peep defeat, bitch Street beat you down with the heat |
| And you spazzed out spittin' out teeth ain’t nuttin' peace |
| Big boys don’t destroy blunted zone pop steroid |
| 50 men convoy, expensive where’s the big toy |
| Rumble through the wasteland right hand’s on the silencer |
| 40 caliber city slicker Staten Islander |
| Synchronized minds combine thoughts that motivate |
| Don’t perpetrate, pass the blunt let it circulate |
| Street politicians on a suicide mission |
| Crime vision finger itchin' from a scope-view position |
| Dangerous ground, tre pound, seven spin around |
| For my bredren the cloud comes down |
| Keep your eyes open, love potion |
| Number nine poetry in motion |
| Knowledge me the seventh sign |
| Scopin', connivin', infiltrate is most of mine |
| Play 'em nonchalantly, calmly expose the nine |
| Push and get shoved what the fuck God’s thinkin' of? |
| Comin' in the club wit that screw face, actin' up |
| Is we men or mice? |
| Bad moon risin', we wild for the night |
| Kill a skitzofrenic, nigga twice 'cuz O |
| That’s what happened when frontin' on the Shaol' borough |
| Island of Staten we in here no fear, assault wit intent |
| To kill your whole regiment |
| Startin' wit yo president, duckin' my dart gun |
| Tear apart, son, you don’t want it then don’t start none |
| Blaze one with Jonathon, part man, part fly |
| Handle my B-I camouflage like G. I |
| Fat like Joe, a day in the life |
| Your money or your life that’s the life |
| Everybody can’t afford ice in the struggle |
| Tryin' to eat right another day another hustle, hustle, hustle |
| Dangerous ground, tre pound, seven spin around |
| For my bredren the clouds come down |
| War and peace, I take it to the street |
| Land shark on my lawn, chop the thumbs off a thief, motherfucker |