Method Man - Crooked Letter I lyrics

(feat. Kon Artis, Streetlife) [Intro: Streetlife (Method Man)] Ooooh! We have returned Yeah, show you how to flow again (show you how to flow again) It's the rap rule again (hehehehe) Yo, yo.. [Streetlife (Method Man)] Street, Meth, we ride like A.C. and O.J. (y'all n***az crazy!) I runs up on you in broad days, I'm a Loose Link I carry's the Heaterz, always Small timers, get left for dead in the hallways It's that ill breed, move in warp speed, follow my lead (Me and my Co-D's, about to O.D.) let me procede I'm that O.G., you're not in my league (you know my steez) I put the smackdown, on you k**er clown M.C.'s [Method Man (Streetlife)] I rock for all my n***az (I rock for all my n***az) That's why I hurt to be here, okay, let me see here Stat' Land, crooked letter is I, we back, man Harder than a dick on viagra gettin' a lap dance Hittin' like a back hand (I slap y'all kids) As if we in a game of spades, and y'all renig' John Blaze, not the clothing, cuz some of that is slum (Son, I'm already knowin') cut they jeans mad young [Chorus 2X: Kon Artis] In the Crooked Letter I, it's do or die sh**, every man fights to stay alive In the Crooked Letter I, you should not try Meth Tical, Streetlife, k**a Bee, why.. [Method Man (Streetlife)] Stingy with my dough, even stingier with dojia' (Told y'all) You'll never go broke, long as I yo'ya Maintain your composure, or party over For stank b**hes, who get it, twisted like yoga Holla for a dollar, yea, and y'all ain't gotta go home (But y'all gotta get the f** outta here) Who stay "Lo" like Jennifer, won't see me a lot But when you see Vivica, tell her she a "Fox" [Streetlife (Method Man)] We rollin', big truck, sittin' on chrome (twistin' a bone) Talkin' to a bird on the bat phone Zonin', out the area, roamin' The closest you could come to my style, maybe, is clonin' The omen (I'm warnin' you now!) n***az is holdin' Run up, watch me put one up in your colon Chizzle town, thugs in the club, like chicks posin' Lambchop n***az is sheep in wolf clothing [Chorus 2X] [Streetlife (Method Man)] Beware, danger, shoot off your flares Warn all your dogs (tell 'em we here) The Stat' (we don't bust our guns in the air) Never that, y'all don't come out til the coast is clear (Who you suppose to fear) Street, I fears no one You all thumbs, I probably murder you with your gun When I start lettin' off (n***az is jettin' off) You straight chicken broth, we holes in your terrycloth [Method Man] Double O, 3, long time no see Who mind parts seas, and cause blind to see Some think this industry is just all rhyme and G Then he make it to the door, and he can't find the key Don't know what it be, to make y'all follow my lead Or make this pretty thing on her knees swallow my seed If rap wasn't rap no more, what would it be I don't know, I'd be zonin' sometime, must be the weed... That's that sh** [Chorus to fade] [Outro: Streetlife (Method Man)] Yeah, Homicide Housing, Loose Linx Carlton Fisk, D.C., rest in peace To the Million Dollar Kid, Y (S.I., N.Y., 10304) Sick eyes, Size 7 Big Nut, what up (Big up to Denaun, good lookin' on the track, n***a Matter fact, I'mma call Staten Island the tri-borough, now on Cuz we'll "tri" any f**in' thing) Homicide Housing.. (f** y'all)