| Eh yo, eh yo, eh yo
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| Yo, yo, yo
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| My son want his back, fuck that (my shine is beautiful)
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| It’s time right now, you know?
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| It’s like we ain’t fuckin with no lame ass niggas no more
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| Bein bullshit by bullshit niggas (for real)
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| Am I my brother’s keeper?
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| Theres no need to ask, I’m the creeper
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| Million dollar man, Johnny Cash
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| Puff the reefer, sometimes mix it with the hash
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| Hard to keep up, 100 yards dash, beat your feet up
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| Jumpin Jack Flash on a muthafuckas ass
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| Caught 'em in the weed stash tryin to tap the bag
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| Now he suspect, read him his rights, it’s only right
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| I never, never, never in my long-legged life
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| Ever bite like shark niggas, got an appetite
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| For destruction, lusting for dough, it’s disgusting
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| Disgraceful, end of disscusion, this tasteful
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| Like cyanide erase you, pull up, let me take two
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| Come all you faithful, Meth and Shyheim
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| Tommy Hilfiger, that I’m a Johnny 'field nigga
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| Till I die, S.I.N.Y. |
| testify
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| Girlfriend sweating my game, killing my high
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| I’m a 100 proof, like Smirnoff blue label
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| I’m so wild, got housearrest bracelets on each ankle
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| I break you, something fatal and make New Jersey trade you
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| You don’t got game, so niggas don’t playa-hate you
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| Come back to Brooklyn, the ya G’s gone
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| Chase you up, batted in dun, dun
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| Nike won’t endorse you so you rock an And-1
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| I pull out the M-1 and hit you handsome
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| Cuz you forcin it, you can hang it up like an ornament
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| End your actin career, put you back in street tournaments
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| Run for your life, like you doing suicides
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| When even use your scrub ass, Live '9−9
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| Am I my brother’s keeper?
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| There’s no need to ask
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| I ride for my brothers, give me the gun and the mask
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| We be in the bushes like The Down Low stash
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| Pop up like a warrant, let off on that ass
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| Yo.
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| Y’all could catch the player Inf' way beyond calm
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| Sharp and on bomb chron, rockin my Sean John
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| Copin the bomb chron from Sharon on the quan
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| Got me chinky-eyed like a Hong Kong don
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| Fire arm palm, cock back caution
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| Alarm for the chumps, boy what you think you gon' palm with my charms
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| Better pay attention to the harm in my palm and it’s fully-loaded
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| If I said it, could he hold it?
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| But once he seen the gun I said, «son, look he bolted»
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| Son, look he noted, the Berrettas’ll shever, but he was clever
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| He stopped screwing and he blew in his vendettas
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| His crew was in to leathers, Avirex and guns
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| Some of them was smart but I could say the rest was dumb
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| So I played the vest for dumb and saved the checks for dumb
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| Cuz they hard-head niggas who graze and steadily come
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| To be leakin something, you could care for speakin
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| Frontin bout shit they stick, instead of zip they lip
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| They was young niggas, you know the young dumb niggas
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| Who don’t care how they get it as it come, nigga
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| Hey, hey…
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| Are you that little guy makin all that big noise? |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Am I My Brothers Keeper, artist - Method Man. Album song Manchild, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп