• Добавить новый текст
  • Внести корректировку

  • Текст песни Method Man & Redman - Blackout



    [Intro]: Meth

    *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, diggi-di-round-sound, some herb round town
    And chances of ya'll leavin', round now
    Wait later, will make Funk page paper
    They rape up the Juveline Ave Graders
    Hit the High School at 187 Caesar
    When I bust ya'll need to back 4 achers
    Doc ya'll and that's my man Jap-A-Jaw
    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

    [Meth]

    Now I'm the streettalkin', dogwalkin'
    A pursuit with extreme caution, OH NOW YOU FORCIN'?
    My hand that rock yo' cradle often
    I'm hot-scorchin', but stome cold like Steve Austin
    If you smell what Tical cookin', ain't try to see, send you 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 Tamara's in the Method's Little Shop Of Horrors
    Go ask your father who the father from the Hilbill harbour
    You know tha saga, marihuana plushin' gold sluggaz
    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...!*
    Come meet me like Tyson and bite a nigga' ear
    Precisin', slicin' juggerless the cut-crew
    Ruggeder, Predator, Viking, Exatorer
    People's champ, niggaz be takin' off competetors
    Reachin' for the microphone, relax and light a bone
    Straight from the Caticone
    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 pushin' whip with a right and left AC
    Gorilla, Big Dog, if my name get caught
    I'm behind the brickwall with Aus and Nick 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 slapped on ? and 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]