Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song The Meth Lab, artist - Method Man. Album song The Meth Lab, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 20.08.2015
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Tommy Boy Entertainment
Song language: English
The Meth Lab |
I’ll give you three seconds to come out wit' your hands up, one, two |
This is my own private domicile |
I will not be harassed, motherfucker! |
Welcome to the Meth Lab, listen, it’s time to cook |
Not confessions of a video vixen, we by the book |
Start the fire, I can tell what you thinkin' just by a look |
I’m a crook, like some fish in a barrel, I got 'em hooked |
Blame the Method, your sanity took, go 'head, admit it |
You a meth head that live on the edge, just need a push |
I’m your pusher, supplier, I’m back, the cheese on the wire |
If a snitch burnin', wouldn’t even piss on the fire |
Now you kids learnin', I ain’t tryin' to preach to the choir |
Now the kids earnin' like them dealers that he admire |
Got that whip workin' like I’m sacrificin' a virgin |
That’s a burden, but I’m certain you’re feelin' it, after you try |
You can’t deny I cook a batch like, 'Woo' |
Hazardous material, you’d need a hazmat suit |
Now you lookin' at me like, 'What's a hazmat suit?' |
Somethin' used to move a body, you don’t have that loop |
Let’s talk about trust |
I told you not to cook my recipe |
And you went ahead and did it anyway |
Cause I never said I wouldn’t cook it |
Cause it ain’t yours, it’s ours, bitch |
Hookers in the kitchen, chemistry is the best recipe |
Especially this shit, I’m takin' on bets |
Pressure cookers, percolate 'em like chefs |
Meth labs here to the West, wools on them gear trims grassed |
Mr. Barker, General, front and center (What up?) |
Got them burners wit' them bodies on them, have me in cuffs |
Killer’s focused, slam it up in them trucks |
Eyes low, grippin' the toast, trigger finger, playin' it close |
You think it’s a game? |
It’s imperative, we show 'em we live |
These niggas playin' wit' this money, funny how niggas die |
They say it’s over when the fat kid cry, ratchets fly here to the Chi' |
You think you can stop me from cookin'? |
You cook whatever you like, as long it’s that B work |
These niggas be runnin' around in the street wit' everyday |
Don’t even think about usin' my grade A |
You should try and stop me, bitch |
I’m in the meth lab concoctin' another concoction |
Decisions, decisions, just weighin' my options |
The formula highly addictive, it’s habit forming |
Side effects life-threatenin', the surgeon’s warnin' |
I write a prescription just for meth abusers |
Regulate your dose intake for heavy users |
For generations, I been servin' these rap fiends |
Babies born addicted to the metric, know what I mean? |
You’re recoverin', but you still use frequently |
So wet your court hearin', judge show some leniency |
Can’t escape old habits, so you copy the new shit |
Wit' your kids in your cars, see, pumpin' that Wu shit |
We worldwide, supply and demand, I got the upper-hand |
Check my passport, global support |
Informant lands non-commercial goods, that raw and uncut |
That got them breakin' bad at the gate for the re-up |
What up, Street? |
Yo, what up, man? |
We gon' put some «Welcome to the meth lab» on there |
Man, you know, it’s straight gutter shit, nigga |
Yeah, you ready to get 'em this time? |
Yeah, always, man |
Alright, so I’m a leave it up to you |
Go 'head, show 'em what you got |