Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song The What , by - Method Man. Song from the album Wu-Chronicles, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопRelease date: 22.03.1999
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Wu-Tang
Song language: English
The What |
| I used to get feels on a bitch |
| Now I throw shields on the dick |
| To stop me from that HIV shit |
| And niggas know they soft like a Twinkie filling |
| Playing the villain, prepare for this rap killing |
| Biggie Smalls is the illest |
| Your style is played out, like Arnold wondered |
| «What you talking 'bout Willis?» |
| The thrill is gone, the black Frank White |
| Is here to excite and throw dick to dykes |
| Bitches, I like 'em brainless |
| Guns, I like 'em stainless steel |
| I want the fuckin' Fortune like the Wheel |
| I squeeze gats 'til my clips is empty |
| Don’t tempt me |
| (T H O D Man) |
| You don’t want to fuck with Biggie |
| Here I am, I’ll be damned if this ain’t some shit |
| Come to spread the butter lyrics over hominy grit |
| It’s the low killer death trap, yes, I’m a jet black ninja |
| Coming where you rest at, surrender |
| Step inside the ring, you’se the number one contender |
| Looking cold booty like your pussy in December |
| Nigga stop bitching, button up ya lip and |
| From Method, all you getting is a can of ass whipping |
| Hey, I’ll be kicking you son, you doing all the yapping |
| Acting as if it can’t happen |
| You front and got me mad enough to touch something |
| Yo, I’m from Shaolin Island and ain’t afraid to bust something |
| So what cha want, nigga? |
| Ya punk, nigga |
| I got a six-shooter and a horse named Trigger |
| It’s real, ninety-four, rugged raw |
| Kicking down your goddamn door |
| (And it goes a lil' something like this) |
| Fuck the world, don’t ask me for shit |
| And everything you get, ya gotta work hard for it |
| Honies, shake your hips, ya don’t stop |
| And niggas pack the clips, keep on |
| Verse two, coming with that Olde E brew |
| Meth Tical, putting niggas back in I.C.U |
| I’m lifted, troop, you can bring yours wack ass crew |
| I got connections, I’ll get that ass stuck like glue |
| No question, I be coming down and shit |
| Yo, I gets rugged as a motherfucking carpet get |
| And niggas love it, not in the physical form but in the mental |
| I spark and they cells get warm, I’m not a gentle, man |
| I’m a Method Man |
| Baby, accept it, utmost respect it |
| (Assume the position) |
| Stop, look and listen |
| I spit on your grave, then I grab my Charles Dickens |
| Welcome to my center |
| Honies feel it deep in they placenta |
| Cold as the pole in the winter |
| Far from the inventor but I got this rap shit sewed |
| And when my Mac unloads |
| I’m guaranteed another video |
| Ready to die, why I act that way? |
| Pop duke left Mom duke |
| The fagot took the back way |
| So instead of making hoes suck my dick up |
| I used to do stick-up |
| Cause hoes is irritating like the hiccups |
| Excuse me, flows just grow through me |
| Like trees to branches, cliffs to avalanches |
| It’s the Praying Mantis |
| Deep like the mind of Farrakhan |
| A motherfucking rap phenomenon |
| Plus |
| (I got more Glocks and techs than you) |
| I make it hot |
| (Nigga, won’t even stand next to you) |
| Nigga, touch me, you better bust me |
| Three times in the head |
| Or motherfucker’s dead, ya thought so |
| Fuck the world, don’t ask me for shit |
| And everything you get, ya gotta work hard for it |
| Honies, shake your hips, ya don’t stop |
| And niggas pack the clips, keep on |
| Fuck the world, don’t ask me for shit |
| And everything you get, ya gotta work hard for it |
| Honies, shake your hips, ya don’t stop |
| And niggas pack the clips, keep on |