Testo Blackout - Method Man & Redman
Testo della canzone Blackout (Method Man & Redman), tratta dall'album Blunt Brothers
Yo, yo, yo, yo
All my people!
Yo, yo, yo, yo
Yo, yo, yo, yo
Yo, yo, yo, yo
Yo, yo, yo, yo!
It's Funk Doc, where the weed at, bitch?
I speed backwards down a one-way from cops, see that shit?
Believe that shit, slaughter straight to camcorder
I'm Too Hot for TV, rap draw water
My windpipe's attached to project boilers
You yell, "Turn the heat down!"
My voice DVD surround sound so I'm heard 'round town
The chances are y'all leaving 'round now
Wait later, we'll make front page paper
Date raper with juvenile eighth graders
Hit the high school and 187 Caesar
When I bust, y'all need to back four acres
Doc, y'all, and that's my man, Jabberjaw
The shitlist ready, who next to scratch off?
I'm from the underground
My sound lift platform shoes to bitches, 400 pounds
Get up, stand up, back up, push up (come on)
Jump up, act up, to make y'all feel it
Br-r-r-r-r stick 'em, ha-ha-ha, stick 'em
Br-r-r-r-r stick 'em, ha-ha-ha, stick 'em
Yo, blackout, shoot-out, smoked out, move out (come on)
Even knock your tooth out, to make y'all feel it
Br-r-r-r-r stick 'em, ha-ha-ha, stick 'em
Br-r-r-r-r stick 'em, ha-ha-ha, stick 'em
And I'm the street-talking, dog-walking
Approach me with extreme caution
Oh, now you forcing my hand to rock your cradle often
I'm hot, scorching, but Stone Cold like Steve Austin
If you smell what Tical cookin'
Ain't tryna see Central Bookin', so tell ya goon stop lookin'
Know what you did last summer, so I started hookin'
You past shooken off an open can of ass-whoopin'
Ain't no tomorrows in the Method's little shop of horrors
Go ask your father who the father from the Hill to harbor
You know the saga, marijuana blunts and Goldschläger
With deadly medley, y'all ain't ready for Shakwon and Reggie
Don't even bother, to radio for back-up (back-up), alright then
Your man got slapped up, extorted for his ice an'
Streetlife is triflin', "Body over here!"
Don't make me pull a Tyson and bite a nigga ear
Precise and slicing jugulars, the cutthroat
Ruggeder predator, viking, etcetra
People's Champ, niggas be taking on competitors
Reaching for the microphone, relax and light a bone
Straight from the catacomb, the Children of the Corn
That don't got a Clue, prepare for Desert Storm
Get up, stand up, back up, push up (come on)
Jump up, act up, to make y'all feel it
Br-r-r-r-r stick 'em, ha-ha-ha, stick 'em
Br-r-r-r-r stick 'em, ha-ha-ha, stick 'em
Yo, blackout, shoot-out, smoked out, move out (come on)
Even knock your tooth out, to make y'all feel it
Br-r-r-r-r stick 'em, ha-ha-ha, stick 'em
Br-r-r-r-r stick 'em, ha-ha-ha, stick 'em
I scored 1.1 on my S.A.T
And still push a whip with a right and left A.C
Gorilla, Big Dog, if my name get called
I'm behind the brick wall with arsenic jaws
Spit poison, got a gun permit, draw
Gun down at sundown, you keep score
This training course and y'all ain't fit
On my crew tombstone put, "We all ain't shit!"
Yo, all you gonna-be, wanna-be, when will you learn?
Wanna be Doc and Meth? Gotta wait your turn
I spit a .41 revolver on New Year's Eve
With the mic in my hand, I mutilate MCs
The most slept on since Rip Van Wink', my shit stink
With every element from A to zinc, so what you think?
I'ma blackout on just one drink? You must be crazy
A little off-the-wall maybe, go get a shrink
Get up, stand up, back up, push up (come on)
Jump up, act up, to make y'all feel it
Br-r-r-r-r stick 'em, ha-ha-ha, stick 'em
Br-r-r-r-r stick 'em, ha-ha-ha, stick 'em
Yo, blackout, shoot-out, smoked out, move out (come on)
Even knock your tooth out, to make y'all feel it
Br-r-r-r-r stick 'em, ha-ha-ha, stick 'em
Br-r-r-r-r stick 'em, ha-ha-ha, stick 'em
Credits
Writer(s): Rudolf Schenker, Klaus Meine, Herman Rarebell, Sonja Kittelsen
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
Link
Disclaimer:
i testi sono forniti da Musixmatch.
Per richieste di variazioni o rimozioni è possibile contattare
direttamente Musixmatch nel caso tu sia
un artista o
un publisher.