Who Ya Rollin Wit

[Intro: Method Man] Uh... what's really good? Yo, yo, yo.. [Method Man] It's the unstoppable, over come any obstacle Ya'll know my flavor, pack more punch than Tropical Any mission possible, do what I gots to do Labels gettin' butterfingers, and next they droppin' you You think you know, but you have no idea The Diary of a Meth Man, what's this I hear? Somebody told ya'll, steppin' in shit was good luck? I got the hood stuck, chh-chh, now give the goods up Ya'll done pushed up, past the point of no return It's Meth's turn, so roll that shit up and let's burn I heard Philly got the best 'scherm, out in Cali, they got the best perms Now that we know, when will the rest learn? Come on, each one, teach one, hear no evil, and I don't speak none Everything cool until that heat come Just call my name, and I'll be there Ya'll kids is slum, like the jewelry in Albi Square [Chorus: Streetlife (Shawnna)] We drinkin' Henny til we flip, poppin' bottles til we sick All ya'll haters eat a dick (yeah, uh) Let's throw a party in this bitch, all my niggaz and my chicks Tell me who ya'll rollin' with (yeah) [Hook 2X: Streetlife (Method Man)] Method spits fire (Fire!) The roof's on (Fire!) My crew's on (Fire!) [Streetlife] M-E-T, H-O-D.. [Method Man] Man, I'm in the house like foreclosures Talk sober, until some dog gets forced over New York soldiers, be at ease, fall back Never ever, I'm the New Era, like ball caps Kid, whenever, whoever, whatever, ya'll want it Ya'll can have it, the problem and answer, I'm all that While we at it, let's tighten up our grips around that cabbage Silly rabbit, how many kid's done tricked you on your carrots The product of a bad package, like Bishop Don Juan it's Magic How I break 'em like a bad habit, hit tracks like it's target practice Then let these darts take a stab at it Niggaz ain't got it, ain't never had it I jam like L.A. traffic, Jellyroll behind the wheel And the passenger seat behind the field It's your boy, physically fit, mentally sick Get dirty money, told you honey, I'm filthy rich [Chorus] [Hook 2X w/o "fire" the second time] [Interlude: Method Man] Yeah, ya'll niggaz don't know it's a game Until it starts again, let's do it, haha! [Method Man] Six minutes, Method Man, you're on If you thinkin' you gon' slip and be alright, you're wrong You can see me lightin' the bong, while writin' the songs That the crowd, is either singin' to or fightin' along, fightin' along I'm try'nna tell you drugs is not your friends And girlfriend, don't try and front like you got your friend I'm at the hotel, motel, Holiday Inn And my chick's a man-eater, she be swallowin' men Aight, live from New York, it's Saturday night I got pipes that drain your confidence, and battery light Aight, mami tight, but she ain't really my type If ya'll don't see me treat her right, then she ain't really my wife When I was young, I was stayin' in school, obeyin' rules Play with my food, what makes you think I'm playin' with you? This is it, ya'll better come on in, the water's fine Jump on in, let's do it to 'em one more 'gain [Chorus] [Hook 2X] [Chorus] [Outro: Method Man] Yeah, Ladies Love Big John Studd No doubt, dick up in your mouth We do this shit everyday, I'm in the cut With my main shit stain, Ray-Ray Gutter Butt And we holdin' it down for the whole Staten Island, man Nothin' else but Staten Island, man Ya'll stand up, man, Stapleton, the Wild West, Park Hill Port Richmond, Now Born, Jungle Nilz, hah... Peace!