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The What

The What

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Lyrics

I used to get feels on a bitch Now I throw shields on the dick, to stop me from that HIV shit And niggas know they soft like a Twinkie filling Playing the villain, prepare for this rap killing Biggie Smalls is the illest, your style is played out Like Arnold on that, "What you talkin' bout, Willis?" The thrill is gone, the Black Frank White Is here to excite and throw dick to dykes Bitches I like 'em brainless, guns I like 'em stainless steel I want the fucking Fortune like the Wheel I squeeze gats 'til my clips is empty Don't tempt me, you don't want to fuck with the M-E... T-H-O-D Man, here I am I'll be damned if this ain't some shit Come to spread the butter lyrics over harmony grit It's the low killer death trap, yes I'm a jet-black ninja Coming where you rest at, surrender Step inside the ring, you's the number one contender Looking cold-booty like your pussy in December Nigga stop bitching, button up your lip and From Method all you getting is a can of ass-whipping Hey, I'll be kicking, you son, you doing all the yapping Acting as if it can't happen Your frontin' got me mad enough to touch something Yo I'm from Shaolin Island and ain't afraid to bust something So what you want nigga? You won't nigga I got a 6-shooter and a horse named Trigger It's real, '94 rugged-raw Kicking down your goddamn door And it goes a little something like this Fuck the world, don't ask me for shit Everything you get you gotta work hard for it (Honeys shake your hips) You don't stop (And niggas pack the clips) Keep on, bitch Verse two, coming with that Olde E brew Meth-tical, putting niggas back in ICU I'm lifted troop, you can bring your wack-ass crew I got connections, I'll get that ass stuck like glue Huh, no question, I be coming down and shit Yo I gets rugged as a motherfucking carpet get And niggas love it, not in the physical form but in the mental I spark and they cells get warm I'm not a gentle-man, I'm a Method Man Baby accept it, utmost respect it, and (Assume the position) Stop look and listen I spit on your grave then I grab my Charles Dickens Bitch Welcome to my center, honeys feel it deep in they placenta Cold as the pole in the winter Far from the inventor, but I got this rap shit sewed And when my MAC unloads I'm guaranteed another video Ready to die, why I act that way? Pop duke left mom duke, the faggot took the back way So instead of making hoes suck my dick up I used to do stick-ups, 'cause hoes is irritating like the hiccups Excuse me, flows just grow through me Like trees to branches, cliffs to avalanches It's the praying mantis, deep like the mind of Farrakhan A motherfucking rap phenomenon, plus I got more Glocks and TECs than you I make it hot (niggas won't even stand next to you) Nigga touch me you better bust me three times in the head Or motherfucker's dead, you thought so Fuck the world, don't ask me for shit Everything you get you gotta work hard for it (Honeys shake your hips) You don't stop (And niggas pack the clips) Keep on, bitch Fuck the world, don't ask me for shit Everything you get you gotta work hard for it (Honeys shake your hips) You don't stop (And niggas pack the clips) Keep on, bitch Junior M.A.F.I.A. clique in full effect (Biggie Smalls and Methical) Bedford–Stuyvesant the livest one My borough is thorough, recognize

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