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Correct Three Amigo's (If It's On) Lyrics
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Artists: K
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King Just
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Correct Three Amigo's (If It's On)
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Lyrics:
[Intro: Method Man] Say what? Ain't no pushin Say what? None of that shit goin on Yo [Method Man] Made from the best shit on Earth I bring it to ya first, sick verse from the thurst In the darkness we lurk, load a cartridge and burst On the scene, like a new team Let 'em on our witness, the Method how I do things Perfected, my routine's are hectic and knockin General Electric, I'm shockin (bzzz) Now who top ten, to rot and land once forgotten Niggas poppin Crys' now, they stock market droppin They poison, I'm the antitoxin, that keep the party rockin And got me for us all, Johnny Cochran Get me off, grant them the ball, if I walk Put that order in the court, yeah Give me crack on and who the fuck really care, yeah World best prepare for Tical, to beware Or be gone outta here, you be warned Fuck all, get off that bullshit And kick the fuckin tux off, now it's on [Chorus: all] If it's on, then it's on We can get it on, gat for gat Track for track, song for song If it's on, then it's on We can get it on So what ya want nigga, ya want nigga? huh? [King Just] You got the beat from another planet Think I don't rock like granite Lyrical giantical, submerge the Titanic Panic with the frantic, antic watch them vanish In the zone, by my own, maricon, if you Spanish The outlandish, even though they can't stand us You better off gettin pick a size, tryin to ban us Either way you put it off, I'mma be heard That's my word, Stone Cold, Goldberg Like a nerve, don't fuck what ya heard That nigga just started hangin out on the curb What's the verdict, soundin like me, you can't word it I put it in overdrive, while you short circuit Worship the ground that I walk on I brought on, all the real niggas that you talked on Blahzay Blah, so on, it's a done deal, don't even go on Soundin nauseous, to choke on strong, to get my smoke on [Chorus] [Sic] Talkin 'bout gats, ain't no bustin clacks, and ain't hustlin Too many cats that want to rap, and ain't sayin nuthin Foolin ya self, how let ya ass do it to ya self When it comes to cash, we the ones doin it, who else? Walkin our dogs, ya cats better beat yours Hot heat reach why'all, before you even get a chance to recharge You weak paw, me and my street niggas a' eat why'all We all, guess they ain't no question that we sure be -song, soon as you throw the fuckin beat on Dick riders ride, followers follow our lead on (you a fly guy) I'ma have to air ya guys out My shit is plat' before it even exit my mouth S.I.N.Y. nigga, who wan' try? Treatin a batty boy head, boom bye bye I.Q. sky high, I flaunt why'all to hardcore Conquer, why you frontin dunn? You don't want war [Chorus 2X] [Outro: Method Man] Three Amigos (we can get it on) *Method Man talkin Spanish* Punk! yeah yeah yeah yeah King Just Sic Mr. Meth We gon polly to the death, yo S.I.N.Y., 10304 *echo*
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