Method Man - Blackout

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Music Video

Song Lyrics

Intro: Method Man:

*All my people...!*



Redman

It`s Funk Doc

Where da weed at, bitch?!

I speed back wist, down to one-way from cops

See thas` shit?! Believe thas` shit!

Slaughter straight to camcorder, I`m too hot for t.v.

Backdraw water, my windpipes attached to

Project-ballers

You yell: "Turn the heat down!"

My voice, D.V.D. round-sound, some herb round town

And chances of ya`ll leavin`, round now

Wait later, will make Funk page paper

Date Raper wit` Juvenile 8th Graders

Hit the High School at 187 Caesar

When I bust ya`ll need to back 4 acres

Doc ya`ll and that`s my man Jabberjaw

The shitlist ready, who next to scratch off?

I`m from the underground, my soundlib

Platform shoes to bitches, 400 pounds!



Chorus: Meth & Red

GET UP, STAND UP, BACK UP, PUSH `EM

JUMP UP, ACT UP TO MAKE YOU FEEL IT!

Brrrrr...STICK `EM, HA-HAHA STICK `EM

Brrrrr...STICK `EM, HA-HAHA STICK `EM

Yo` BLACKOUT, SHOOT OUT, SMOKED OUT

MOVE OUT, EVEN KNOCK THE TOOTH OUT, TO MAKE YA`LL FEEL

IT!

Brrrrr...STICK `EM, HA-HAHA STICK `EM

Brrrrr...STICK `EM, HA-HAHA STICK `EM



Method Man:

Now I`m the streettalkin`, dogwalkin`

Approach me with extreme caution, OH NOW YOU FORCIN`?

My hand that rock yo` cradle often

I`m hot-scorchin`, but stone cold like Steve Austin

If you smell what Tical cookin`, ain`t try to see

central bookin`

So til ya gon` stop lookin`, now what you did last

summer?

So I started hookin`, you past shookin`

Over open can I ass-whoopin`?

Ain`t no tomorrows in the Method`s Little Shop Of

Horrors

Go ask your father who the father from the Hill to

Harbor

You know tha saga, marijuana bustin` Goldschlaager

With deadly medley, ya`ll ain`t ready for Shakwon and

Reggie

Don`t even bother, the radio for back-up

Alright then, ya man got slapped up extorted for his

icin`

Streetlife is triflin` *Body over here...!*

Col` make me pull a Tyson and bite a nigga` ear

Precisin`, slicin` jugulars the cut-crew

Ruggeder, Predator, Viking, etc.

People`s champ, niggaz be takin` all competetors

Reachin` for the microphone, relax and light a bone

Straight from the Catacomb

The Children Of The Corn, that don`t got a clue

Prepare for desert storm!



Chorus



I scored 1.1 on my SAT

And still push a whip with a right and left AC

Gorilla, Big Dog, if my name get called

I`m behind the brickwall with arsenic jaws

Spit poison, got a gun permit draw

Gundown at Sundown you keep score!

This training-course and ya`ll ain`t fit

On my crew-tombstone put `We All Ain`t Shit`



Meth

Yo`, all you gonna be, wanna be

When will you learn? Wanna be Doc and Meth? Gotta wait

ya turn

I spit a .41 Revolver on New Year`s Eve

With the mic in my hand I mutilate m.c.`s

The most slept on since Rip Van Wink

My shit stink with every element from A to Zinc

So what you think? I`ma blackout on just one drink?

You must be crazy! A little off the wall maybe

Go get a shrink...



Chorus

Release History