Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Grid Iron Rap, artist - Method Man. Date of issue: 10.10.1998
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Grid Iron Rap |
| «Dropped outta school early so I could get me some paper |
| That’s a good book, I don’t mind you gettin knowledge about the game |
| You dig? |
| So you won’t have to have those young girls fool ya, you dig? |
| Trick ya outta your check, so you can learn about it |
| Don’t try to play if you ain’t ready for it |
| Cuz the game could be detrimental to ya boy.» |
| I Silver Surf the city circuit, forever lurkin on the street surface |
| I spit blood for blood verses |
| Plan span divided, we still stand conquer land |
| One man’ll body slam Def Jam |
| Focus ya head cam, zoom in, we radio tunin |
| I know you’re listenin so I keep showin and provin |
| Play the sideline, waitin for the right time to take mine |
| Street crime, nickel and dime rhyme |
| f*ck a peace talk, let the gun spark, on the streets of New York |
| I Shaolin strut through the city asphalt, FED UP |
| Hold ya head up, I’m circlin the block, keep ya eyes up |
| Wise up before you get sized up (tied up) |
| Play no game, speakin on my name you catch a clip full |
| from close range, diggin in your pocket, take the loose change |
| Punch the data in ya mainframe |
| You want it all, I want the same thing |
| Strive to maintain, live out my name |
| Hard to obtain, hard to explain, ain’t nuttin changed |
| Leave the same way I came, Bringin motherf*ckin Pain |
| Killa Hill projects, hi-tech street intellect |
| Best connect, blow your headset, f*ck a mic check |
| Bring em round the underground, pocket full of sound |
| Ashes to ashes y’all n*ggaz goin down |
| Eat sh*t and die slow, battle ground no survival |
| You goin down, y’all n*ggaz f*ck around |
| sh*ttin where you sleepin, so my rhyme Proposal came Indecent |
| Beef from the butcher, sink your teeth in |
| f*ck what you believe in, you real-fake |
| Fishin in the same lake, eatin off the same cake you blow face |
| Who go that ready cook, synthetic look, actin crook |
| Betty shook worm, tryin to shake the hook as the world turn |
| n*gga burn, once again the Super Sperm, rub it in |
| your skin, like it’s Lubriderm, time took to write this |
| The war will be fought by the righteous |
| Who stand criticized by his un A*Alikeness |
| Knowledge is the truth and it’s priceless |
| Real like them Rahway Lifers, nuttin but time on my hands |
| Observe the black sands in the hourglass, fallin fast |
| In the savage land haulin ass, Days of Thunder |
| It’s Road Rage, your days are numbered |
| What RZA put together let no man tear asunder (motherf*cker!) |
| This is P.L.O., Killa Hill flow but you don’t hear me though |
| Live in stereo, pumpin loud until your speaker blow |
| Ghetty-o slang pro, sling rap for cash flow |
| Keep it live from the intro until the outro |
| I’m on a suicide run, y’all n*ggaz know the outcome |
| Razor sharp tongue leave scars in your eardrum |
| Forty-five bar seminar, ghetto rap star |
| Slide like water rats through the Staten Reservoir |
| Swingin swords cut your mic cord, snatch ya rap awards |
| Commercial cats f*ckin up the game, that’s why I crash boards |
| Break laws, wired jaw, keep on tryin yours |
| Hardcore, something that my street n*ggaz is dyin for |
| Snatch your neck and the dope fiend, Golgo 13 |
| Professionals wit no things, say no more |
| Check my Dogs at the Reservoir |
| Gourmet special of the day is n*gga Souflee, pusher gotta pay |
| And the games people play, John J. back around the way |
| Fish filet, Mister DJ, turn it up a notch |
| Hit the replay, for dirt bomb n*ggaz in the P.J. |
| to Klingon, bring on, the Good Times for Keyon |
| Hood rhymes that’s be-yond ya thinkin |
| For eons, I’ve been hear to shine on the black minds |
| Tell you like the last time, year of the grimy n*gga |
| Rag time, bad sign, flatline |
| «It's easy to get into the game, but once you get on top |
| Can you stay there?» |