[Method Man] Damn, I hate it when it rain Ever since I came in the game Some hated on the fame A lot of niggas done changed And started actin´ strange Even labels turning they backs And started backing lames Radio is the same, whole lotta speculatin´ These mutherfuckas defacatin´ on the name Wu-Tang, if this is where the hip-hop is Radio lyin´ then, that ain´t where hip-hop live It lives in the streets, we eat to live they livin´ to eat I´m fed up, that nigga rides in ´em, givin ´em sleep
R.I.P., make me the king of all I see And when death call I´m good I got call ID See it was planned in the front, now they just gon´ front Like my joints is on proactive, and they just don´t bump Then niggas gon´ say I lost my skill when in fact they all been programmed And lost they feel, fo´ real
[Chorus: Lauryn (Method Man)] They´ve got so much things to say right now They´ve got so much things to say They´ve got so much things to say right now (Yeah) They got so much things to say (Yo)
[Method Man]
Damn, another artist chokes again They ain´t cut as close as him or even broke the skin See how niggas ain´t yo friends, when there ain´t no ends Don´t care who the case offend, don´t underrate my pen I got what it takes to win, while ya´ll are thinking I´m trash Loving the taste of success and this drink in my glass Watch ´em cosign that whack shit, give it a pass till it´s gone Quicker than Red, can´t get rid of them clubs When they´re wrong, call the cops, they credibility´s shot It´s time to learn, what hot really is and really is not
Off brain niggas, Meth gonna let ´em know off top Don´t get smacked on dvds, trying to show off blocks I can´t stop cause my enemies plot, or cause the cops want me Shackled and locked inside the penalty box And while they waitin´ for my shit to flop They gettin´ pimped like hoes Sellin´ they ass just to get my spot, come on man
[Repeat Chorus]
[Method Man] Ask Miss Hill, half these critics ain´t got half this skill Often so hungry that they have to steal If I didn´t have my deal, and didn´t have this mass appeal
Then I´m back up in that trap, swingin´ crack it´s real And that ain´t worth the time, so search and find a new nerve And here´s three words: stop working mine It take a lot more to hurt my pride Jerk my vibe more than media lies, cry when dirt dog die nigga The last album wasn´t feeling my style This time my foot up in they ass but they feelin´ me now Cause Tical, he put his heart in every track he do But somehow yall find someway to give a whack review It ain´t all good, they writin´ that I´m Hollywood Tryin´ to tell you my shit ain´t ghetto and they hardly hood
Come on man, until you dudes can write some rhymes Keep that in mind when you find yourself reciting mines