Текст песни Method Man - Rite Ft. Method Man

4:20 The Mixtape Vol.2
Жанр: Rap
Исполнитель: Method Man
Альбом: 4:20 The Mixtape Vol.2
Длительность: 03:27
Рейтинг: 234
MP3: Скачать
Загрузил: Josh Smith


[Hook] My vision gettin’ clearer I’m lookin’ in the mirror I’m sayin’ to myself “that’s a fly nigga” Harlem is the city, got all my niggas with me You know that they get busy, “lets ride nigga” Dah, dah, daditty dah dee dah, daditty dah dee day You niggas know I’m hot “Rite” Dah, dah, daditty dah dee day, daditty dah dee day You tryin’ to take my spot “Rite” [Verse 1: Loaded Lux] Play the bench the starter’s is stayin’ in My thinking cap on I’m ’bout ready to raise the brim Been bathing in the money so honeys the fakers went I got enough fans ain’t looking to make a friend Bad news for niggas with rap moves The facts prove I way up in the stat pool If cash rules the bread good then you fast food Thought I left, but I right on ‘em like tattoos Mirror on the wall, who’s the flyest of all Maybe the monologue, or fancy designer clothes Buyin’ out the bar for baby behind the bar So you can tell them niggas retire I’m on my job They want me as a martyr Drop the hem or a mama RIP out to Huddy and light a candle for Harlem Bring the niggas that knew me and bitches that love me truly 100 bands in the box and bury me in my Gucci (Beloved) [Hook] [Verse 2: Redman] All my fans say fuck you in they fan mail Cause I had they main girl on a hand-held I go to the store they try to pop my fan-belt Then I body ‘em in the street like Cornbread Earl Boy I’m that thorough, I’m like a pitbull Windex in the pen to make it crystal 170 but in rap I’m a big dude So yeah, I got bars like a Gym Room Boy I’m that dirty So tell the rap Jury That tennis, The only way a nigga gon’ serve me My black Mac Bernie, I even mat suri Shit I’m killin’ the Mic Like Conrad Murray Get ya weight up boy, you wan’ hustle with it Even my protein bars got muscle in it Pop my trunk, Pop Yours nothin’ in it I’m Cool so hol’ up, Wait a minute [Hook] [Verse 3: Method Man] Lux I’m Loaded ’bout ready to spit a verse On hater’s I unloaded be ready to get his hearse I’m bout to send him notice If Harlem don’t get him first Send him down to unemployment cause homey gone get this work Hot Benz, every honey is top ten If she Hops in, then mo’ than likely we not friends Look I’m locked in, Hit you like Skelly, your top spin First I pop, then I’m out like Pirelli’s on stock rims Flyest in the game, still applyin’ the pain Since Milk was Top Billin’, and Lyte was ridin’ the train These paper thin villains get scraped and thrown in the flame 85% of rappers is fake and so is they chain Now that’s a no-brainer 36 in my Chamber Now a moment of silence I throw a L up for Banga Lyricist not a Singa Don’t ever forget its Gangsta Ladies they get the thumbs up coppers they just get the finga (Beloved) [Hook]
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