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ghetto b.i. lyrics |
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| Artist: Method man Song: ghetto b.i. lyrics Album: Non Album Tracks |
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| (Method Man) Yeah ha.. we vibin' Channel livin' all day ha c'mon Yo its me the m-e-t-h uh o-d ?? Sniff a whole key My coke deep Be my consciouss tellin me it dont make sense Then guard his nonsense A niggas best defense is his offense So yo I watch po po And duck a dodo Birdies in them gogo's Trying to steal my mojo Oh no your'e fuckin with a pro Who go for dolo For sure though A season veteran holy a (dobo??) Come on now judge judy Youre televised through our vision While I black you get imprisoned When my eyes see through your eyes Your hypnotized Subconsciously you change the station to channel live That underground hard-core sound who said it'd die Cause if it is me and my nine's The first to ride For my niggas Live by the fire die by the flame Happy im gone knowin my son's gonna be the same As his dough-diggy dog that Who put his feelings on a pamphlet A pen unleash the dragon again uh Im on ya like hot grease on a skillet Gorillas on real tv because they feel us (Verse 2) I'm livin like a hundred in a jeep stolen Wools in sheeps clothng All beef frozen Bust like cheap trojans Nautrally rollin blunts and weed smokin We keep chokin Bitches on they knees open I spit like a automatic semi barking part And if you hear me starin blame the remmy martin So liquor shots ghetto people Dutches and c-lo's duckin the repo For fuckin them lady c-o's Rhymes blind devine (evol??) Smoked out in the cadillac regal With a mommy on my beecho Theres eight million stories Only six million ways to die Theres two million niggas getting away with crime Theres two million more whack niggas tryin to rhyme Now theres four million niggas tryin to eat at one time It keeps the thugs gunnin in the blood runnin And the judge frontin Enough to make nigga touch something (chorus) Niggas fuckin with that strick-nine The models get mine So we gonna be big time Its ghetto buisness Niggas jack cars and rap stars Rockin the cash bars Bitches dancin naked on their lap Its ghetto buisness Niggas hold guns Hot ones steakin' the biscut Ghetto nigga soft cores is ghetto business Yo, drinks and weed son Never seeds son I got what you need son Its all ghetto business (Verse 3) Yo this is for the senile Walking on the green mile My lyrics be like the spirit of a teen gone wild Shit is after ten bitch wheres your child With a nine in his pocket lockin it down like penile I did the knowledge to born Your style straight corn I woke up in the morning Heard your shit and just yawned You fuckin up my high No lie You can die ?? Before i break you up like god Yo its the herb slinger New style bringer Rap is for my war plan Fat like Corporal Clinger We still bring the hardcore with r&b singers While the beast ask you out like hoes on Jerry Springer (Verse 4) Yo rally hot boys feel so sick And I won't stop 'til I'm so so rich While Y'all niggas spit I (WHOOO) blow hits Don't waste time And I don't waste rhymes Few minutes, shit Track done like swiss If you ain't hot come like this Real niggas hold a gun like this Pop something, one in your leg Make your ass run like this Now picture that Defeat rhymes never that Son son you brave You ain't a man cause you got a little something to shade I've been a thug since the sixth grade Rockin a fade Young Boomy Look what the ghetto done to me Made you bolder now Heart colder now Brick soldier now Gun holder now Nigga snath my chain, catch him hold him down Hit him with the hot slugs like over now I know you wanna test rock, what you waitin for I live one-thirty-eight basement door City up north you can't escape the raw Find me where channel live be at (What is this) Ghetto Business (Beat Fades Out) (Rowdy Rahz Freestyle) You aint fin to blow up shit Youre merely a bomb threat How the fuck you gonna move a crowd You aint moved out from your moms yet I'm a vet, better yet a vet-er-an The words smith and wessun Like megatron Understand I'm past hip-hop I should be put into tiny ziplocks Distributed by those who flip rocks Leak use after word Smith b So dope you better sniff me And learn to keep me out ya mouth Get me I'm goin to Armaghetto swiftly My whole click be sickly So we don't sleep we spit in bed Those thats trying to get hit in the head Fuck around and get hit in the head Everything I write is either a death sentence or a blood line For those who love nines We don't stand in club lines We V.I.P Thugs love to hear me spit that If you ain't down with ghetto business THERE'S THE EXIT PUNK, HIT THAT ! |
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