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[Method Man] Hey yo, shorty, yo that's my word Oh, y'all smellin' y'all piss now y'all think y'all gold Yo anybody get caught playin' over here, I'm returnin' em that's my word that they be blasted Anything from two-twenty to one-forty, that's mine Y'all need to step the fuck off Y'all niggaz ain't crazy for real [GZA/Genius] The fiends ain't comin' fast enough There is no cut that pure enough I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload Product must be sold (to you) I'm deep down in the back streets, in the heart of Medina About to set off somethin' more deep than a misdemeanor Under the subway, waitin' for the train to make noise So I could blast a nigga and his boys For what? He pushed dope on the block and made the dope sales drop like the crash in the DOW Jones stock I had to connect to cross seals, to catch more mils than ho bitches got birth control pills I'm in the park, settin' up a deal over blunt fire, bum nigga sleeping on the bench they had him wired Peep my convo, the address of my condo, and how I change a nigga name to John Doe And while we set up camp we got vamped With a stake through his heart, I ripped his fucking fangs apart Snake got smoked on the set like Brandon Lee SongtexteBlown out the frame like Pan Am flight 103 He got swung on, his lungs was torn The king pin just castled with his rook and lost a pawn A regular on the block, and played look out For playin' predator with a glock, he shoulda took out No neighborhood is rough enough There is no clip that's full enough I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload Product must be sold (to you) Yo, fiends ain't comin' fast enough There is no cut that's pure enough I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload Product must be sold (to you) It's mandatory that I supply all my troops with mega firearms, big apes, and spread 'em out like crops on a farm to get cream Sometimes they will paint the scene like the last episode on Gates and other niggaz plant bombs until the blast from the smoke becomes thick, then floats threw, all they knew his guns sick His glock clicks like high heel shoes on parkade floors, mad sick, stand on hills and invade wars Filthy foul, shovelin' dirt, he's out to hurt For instance, chop off hands, attack worth His idols locked down airports and exports Some import, catchin' ten percent of what the fiends snort Up in the ski resorts, up in hills They move keys and had skis making drops on snowmobiles The plan was to expand, catch seven figures, release triggers And live large and bigger than my nigga Who promised his moms a mansion with mad rooms She died, and he still put a hundred grand in her tomb Open wounds, he hid behind closed doors And still organized his crime and drug wars Fiends ain't comin fast enough There is no cut that's full enough I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload Product must be sold (to you) No neighborhood is rough enough There is no clips that's full enough I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload Product must be sold (to you) The peers make cuts that's tight enough There is no niggaz that's fucked with us I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload Product must be sold (to you) Aus Songtexte Mania