PF Cuttin - Therapy lyrics

[Verse 1: Masta k**a] Yo, I gotta be around this music, it's therapeutic The first fresh thoughts of the day is so clear When I walk, in my head, there's a voice that talks In my ear I can hear so clear, you think I'm buggin' right? I'm just contemplating the silent [?] Out to the West Side my k**er Cali gangstas Ride and get the head right Yo son, I'm on the next flight in Twist some [?] I'm guaranteed the right of his psalm before we reach Throw the instrumental on it, watch [?] pattern of speech Man-formed military arm ready to swarm, get your party on Drinks on the house tonight, ladies lookin' right Atmosphere nice and warm, we backstage like a hundred thieves strong Ghost want the red light on before we get on An hour's too short to rock, we got a million songs [Verse 2: Method Man] Yo I gotta be around this music, it's therapeutic Like my first blunt of the day to start the movement I'm sittin' in the room with a view, there's always room for improvement So I grab my coat and go and prove it Just me against the world, you can find me in the streets She'll spot me in the lobby, probably find me in the free Cop a 'Rari, the [?] in the lining of my seats Tryna put me in a lineup til' I wind up in the beast That's the belly, how dare they tryna tell me when to eat With a plate of food barely in my reach My team shoot dice, we used to shoot skelly in the streets Wear the same Pelle-Pelle's for a week But now we livin' life A such a good life I wish that I could live it twice I'd probably make the same wiz my wife It's Wu-Tang Clan, always collect cheddar Proper education, always correct errors [Verse 3: Redman] Yo, bananas, Redman so gorilla Chi-town know I'm pimping the mic, n***a One hit, and chicks follow me like Twitter Crack when I talk, I like the mic steam up The fiends hit it, chicks swing with it I'll box n***as in like Don King did it Sixteens I write, it's seems so vivid My notebooks I let the eBay did it I get dough, bad pair for the sick flow My weed more greener than Lou Ferrigno My right-hand man hand on the pistol I crack these squares up like Nabisco Oh, look at me, I'm lightweight But with the heart to peel back your white meat Yo wifey want me to make her wifey Hit it, make the b**h hyphy at high speed, Doc