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Correct Killing The Game Lyrics
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Artists: M
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Method Man
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Correct Killing The Game
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Lyrics:
[Verse 1: Pretty Blanco] Yeah, nah, nah You ain't never run into a Goonie in the boonies, better hope I let my toolie out But I ain't never lackin', boy, you actin' when I catch you up in traffic, I'ma put one in your dome 'Cause the day I lost my brother, I was sittin' with my mother and she told me I would never be alone So I grabbed that four-five, why should homie be alive when he got my best friend? Now he gone No, this shit just so wrong Remember his cousin was callin' my phone Like, Blanco, let's get him, I know where he headed He need to be deaded, let's go So we hit the road, gone off them shrooms like I'm Toad Hop in the [?], that four-forty-four close It's on, soon as you see 'em, let go Reloaded it and dump it some more So we posted up by the store Freezin', it's twenty below Blowin' this weed by the O We just 'bout to leave and then, yo, I think I just seen me that fiend that Gene and my bro He's right on the corner with Steven and Joe Now it's open season, I'm fiendin' to blow So Lee hop up outta the whip, when he let that shit rip, I saw all of 'em [?] on the floor, whoa But I guess what can I say? I hit J-F-K and was back to L-A A thief in the night and a thief in the day So I take what I want, while I'm chiefin' the J Huh, while I'm chiefin' the J Be careful out here in them streets where you play Be careful out here when you speak what you say 'Cause your ex will get cut up, the meat, the fillet, like whoa [Chorus] We killin' these lames, so my killers insane Watch how we killin' the game-we killin' the game We be killin' the brain and got me not feelin' a thang We killin' these lames, so my killers insane Watch how we killin' the game-we killin' the game We be killin' the brain and got me not feelin' a thang [Verse 2: Method Man] I'm back in my stash, we back in the lab Got killas in back of your pad with ratchets and masks We 'bout to catch us a bag, couldn't find no matches or gas I'm mashin' the gas, I done mastered the class Do not give these rappers a pass These rappers is trash I give these rappers the drag then ask, 'Is you mad or you mad?' Haters, I'm flickin' 'em all Critics have written 'em off Trick, I'ma boss I might not be bigger than Ross but still might be bigger than yours I smell like the vault She smellin' like Christian Dior But we don't be kissin' them broads, uh-uh, not at all I mean it, I seen it before Their momma a queen like Afeni Shakur Meth know the meanin' of floor They fiena be king of New York But why if the kingdom is poor? Now we keepin' score Don't know what you figure me for Who told you the city was yours? Round of applause and you get around just because You wasn't down for the cause Provin' the form, hope it wasn't you in the morgue See, this what I do when I'm bored Nothin' to do with the law Got nothin' to do wit'cha boy The cops'll put two in your boy Your day'll be worn for sure Soon as my key in the door and I get my feet on the floor Believe it, I'm eatin' some more Beastin' some more Beef, it don't need to be thawed This is the reason I'm raw
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