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    Method Man / Lyrics

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    "Blackout!" Lyrics

    Method Man and Redman

    Album:
    Genre:Hip-Hop
    Duration:00:04:11
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    Lyrics

    [Redman]
    Yo yo yo yo.. it's Funk Doc, where the weed at, bitch?
    I speed backwards down a one-way from cops - see that shit?
    Believe that shit - slaughter, straight to camcorder
    I'm "Too Hot for TV," rap draw water
    My windpipe's attached to project ballers
    You yell: "Turn the heat down!"
    My voice, DVD 'round sound, so I'm heard round town
    And chances of y'all leavin? 'round now!
    Wait later, will make front page paper
    Date raper; with juvenile eighth graders
    Hit the high school and 187 Caesar
    When I bust y'all need to back fo' acres
    Doc y'all, and that's my man Jabberjaw
    The shitlist ready, who next to scratch off?
    I'm from the underground, my sound lift
    platform shoes to bitches, fo'-hundred pounds!

    Chorus: Method Man + Redman

    GET UP, STAND UP, BACK UP, PUSH UP
    JUMP UP, ACT UP - TO MAKE Y'ALL FEEL IT!
    Brrrrr... STICK 'EM, HA-HA-HA STICK 'EM
    Brrrrr... STICK 'EM, HA-HA-HA STICK 'EM
    Yo' BLACKOUT, SHOOT OUT, SMOKED OUT, MOVE OUT
    EVEN KNOCK YOUR TOOTH OUT, TO MAKE Y'ALL FEEL IT!
    Brrrrr... STICK 'EM, HA-HA-HA STICK 'EM
    Brrrrr... STICK 'EM, HA-HA-HA STICK 'EM

    [Method Man]
    And I'm the street-talkin.. dog-walkin..
    Approach me with extreme caution -- oh now you forcin
    my +Hand+ to +Rock Yo' Cradle+ often, I'm hot-scorchin
    but 'Stone Cold' like Steve Austin
    If you smell what Tical cookin
    Ain't tryin to see central bookin
    So tell ya goon stop lookin
    "Know What You Did Last Summer," so I started hookin
    You past shooken off an open can of ass-whoopin
    Ain't no tomorrow's 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 blunts and Goldschlager
    with deadly medley, y'all ain't ready for Shakwon and Reggie
    Don't even bother, the radio for back-up - alright then
    Your man got slapped up, extorted for his ice an'
    street life is triflin "Body over here!!"
    Don't make me pull a Tyson and bite a nigga ear
    Precise an', slicin jugulars, the cut-throat
    Ruggeder, predator, Viking, et cetera
    People's Champ, niggaz be takin on competitors
    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

    [Redman]
    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 brick wall with arsenic jaws
    Spit poison, got a gun permit draw
    Gun down at sundown - you keep score!
    This trainin course and y'all ain't fit
    On my crew tombstone put, "We all ain't shit!"

    [Method Man]
    Yo, all you gonnabe, wannabe, when will you learn?
    Wanna be Doc and Meth? Gotta wait your turn
    I spit a .41 revolver on New Year's Eve
    With the mic in my hand I mutilate MC's
    The most slept on since Rip Van Wink'
    My shit'stink with every element from A to Z, 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
    This song was submitted on October 27th, 2004.
    Thanks to Chris Turek for the contribution to this song.
    Copyright with Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/atv Music Publishing Llc, Emi Music Publishing, Della Music Publishing, Llc.
    Written by Erick S. Sermon, Clifford Smith, Reggie Noble, Mark Morales, Darren Robinson, Damon Yul Wimbley.
    Lyrics licensed by LyricFind.

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