[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, divi-di-round-sound,
some heard round town
And chances are ya´ll leavin´, round now
Wait later, will make Funk page paper
Date Raper with juveline 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 UP
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 YA 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´
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 tryin´ to see central bookin´

So til ya gon´ stop lookin´, know what you did last
summer?
So I started hookin´, you past shookin´
Offer 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 (Park)Hill
to (Mariners)Harbor
You know tha saga, marijuana blunts and Goldschlager
With deadly medley, ya´ll ain´t ready for Shakwon and
Reggie
Don´t even bother, to radio for back-up
Alright then, ya man got slapped up extorted for his

icin´
Streetlife is triflin´  *Body over here...!
Nigga pull a Tyson and bite a nigga´ ear
Precisin´, slicin´ juggerless the cut-crew
Ruggeder, Predator, Viking, excetera
People´s champ, niggaz be takin´ off competetors
Reachin´ for the microphone, relax and light a bone
Straight from the Catacombs
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 Jars
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´m a blackout on just one drink?
You must be crazy! A little off the wall maybe
Go get a shrink...
[Chorus]