"Blackout" lyrics - METHOD MAN & REDMAN

METHOD MAN & REDMAN

"Blackout"

[Intro: Redman]
Yo, yo, yo, yo
All my people!
Yo, yo, yo, yo
Yo, yo, yo, yo
Yo, yo, yo, yo
Yo, yo, yo, yo!

[Verse 1: Redman]
It's Funk Doc, where the weed at, bitch?
I speed backwards down a one-way from cops, see that shit?
Believe that shit, slaughter straight to camcorder
I'm "Too Hot for TV", rap draw water
My windpipe's attached to project boilers
You yell: "Turn the heat down!"
My voice DVD 'round sound so I'm heard round town
The chances are y'all leaving 'round now
Wait later, we'll make front page paper
Date raper with juvenile eighth graders
Hit the high school and 187 Caesar
When I bust y'all need to back four acres
Doc y'all and that's my man, Jabberjaw
The shitlist ready, who next to scratch off?
I'm from the underground, my sound lift
Platform shoes to bitches, 400 pounds

[Chorus: Method Man & Redman]
Get up, stand up, back up, push up (Come on)
Jump up, act up to make y'all feel it
Br-r-r-r-r stick 'em, ha-ha-ha stick 'em
Br-r-r-r-r stick 'em, ha-ha-ha stick 'em
Yo, blackout, shootout, smoked out, move out (Come on)
Even knock your tooth out to make y'all feel it
Br-r-r-r-r stick 'em, ha-ha-ha stick 'em
Br-r-r-r-r stick 'em, ha-ha-ha stick 'em

[Verse 2: Method Man]
And I'm the street talking, dog walking
Approach me with extreme caution
Oh now you forcing my hand to rock your cradle often
I'm hot scorching but stone cold like Steve Austin
If you smell what Tical cookin'
Ain't tryna see central bookin', so tell ya goon stop lookin'
Know what you did last summer, so I started hookin'
You past shooken off an open can of ass-whoopin'
Ain't no tomorrows in the Method's little shop of horrors
Go ask your father who to bother from the hill to harbor
You know the saga, marijuana blunts and Goldschlager
With deadly medley, y'all ain't ready for Shakwon and Reggie
Don't even bother, the radio for back-up (Back-up), alright then
Your man got slapped up, extorted for his ice an'
Street life is triflin', "Body over here!"
Don't make me pull a Tyson and bite a nigga ear
Precise and slicing jugulars, the cutthroat
Ruggeder, predator, viking, etc
People's Champ, niggas be taking on competitors
Reaching for the microphone, relax and light a bone
Straight from the catacomb, the "Children of the Corn"
That don't got a clue, prepare for Desert Storm

[Verse 3: Redman & Method Man]
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 brick wall with arsenic jaws
Spit poison, got a gun permit draw
Gun down at sundown, you keep score
This training course and y'all ain't fit
On my crew tombstone put, "We all ain't shit!"
Yo, all you gonnabe, wannabe, when will you learn?
Wanna be Doc and Meth? Gotta wait your turn
I spit a.41 revolver on New Year's Eve
With the mic in my hand, I mutilate MCs
The most slept on since Rip Van Wink', my shit stink
With every element from A to zinc so what you think
I'ma blackout on just one drink? You must be crazy
A little off the wall maybe, go get a shrink