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Fix lyrics Who ya rollin wit by Method Man

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[Intro: Method Man] Uh... what´s really good? Yo, yo, yo.. [Method Man] It´s the unstoppable, over come any obstacle Ya´ll know my flavor, pack more punch than Tropical Any mission possible, do what I gots to do Labels gettin´ butterfingers, and next they droppin´ you You think you know, but you have no idea The Diary of a Meth Man, what´s this I hear? Somebody told ya´ll, steppin´ in shit was good luck? I got the hood stuck, chh-chh, now give the goods up Ya´ll done pushed up, past the point of no return It´s Meth´s turn, so roll that shit up and let´s burn I heard Philly got the best ´scherm, out in Cali, they got the best perms Now that we know, when will the rest learn? Come on, each one, teach one, hear no evil, and I don´t speak none Everything cool until that heat come Just call my name, and I´ll be there Ya´ll kids is slum, like the jewelry in Albi Square [Chorus: Streetlife (Shawnna)] We drinkin´ Henny til we flip, poppin´ bottles til we sick All ya´ll haters eat a dick (yeah, uh) Let´s throw a party in this bitch, all my niggaz and my chicks Tell me who ya´ll rollin´ with (yeah) [Hook 2X: Streetlife (Method Man)] Method spits fire (Fire!) The roof´s on (Fire!) My crew´s on (Fire!) [Streetlife] M-E-T, H-O-D.. [Method Man] Man, I´m in the house like foreclosures Talk sober, until some dog gets forced over New York soldiers, be at ease, fall back Never ever, I´m the New Era, like ball caps Kid, whenever, whoever, whatever, ya´ll want it Ya´ll can have it, the problem and answer, I´m all that While we at it, let´s tighten up our grips around that cabbage Silly rabbit, how many kid´s done tricked you on your carrots The product of a bad package, like Bishop Don Juan it´s Magic How I break ´em like a bad habit, hit tracks like it´s target practice Then let these darts take a stab at it Niggaz ain´t got it, ain´t never had it I jam like L.A. traffic, Jellyroll behind the wheel And the passenger seat behind the field It´s your boy, physically fit, mentally sick Get dirty money, told you honey, I´m filthy rich [Chorus] [Hook 2X w/o "fire" the second time] [Interlude: Method Man] Yeah, ya´ll niggaz don´t know it´s a game Until it starts again, let´s do it, haha! [Method Man] Six minutes, Method Man, you´re on If you thinkin´ you gon´ slip and be alright, you´re wrong You can see me lightin´ the bong, while writin´ the songs That the crowd, is either singin´ to or fightin´ along, fightin´ along I´m try´nna tell you drugs is not your friends And girlfriend, don´t try and front like you got your friend I´m at the hotel, motel, Holiday Inn And my chick´s a man-eater, she be swallowin´ men Aight, live from New York, it´s Saturday night I got pipes that drain your confidence, and battery light Aight, mami tight, but she ain´t really my type If ya´ll don´t see me treat her right, then she ain´t really my wife When I was young, I was stayin´ in school, obeyin´ rules Play with my food, what makes you think I´m playin´ with you? This is it, ya´ll better come on in, the water´s fine Jump on in, let´s do it to ´em one more ´gain [Chorus] [Hook 2X] [Chorus] [Outro: Method Man] Yeah, Ladies Love Big John Studd No doubt, dick up in your mouth We do this shit everyday, I´m in the cut With my main shit stain, Ray-Ray Gutter Butt And we holdin´ it down for the whole Staten Island, man Nothin´ else but Staten Island, man Ya´ll stand up, man, Stapleton, the Wild West, Park Hill Port Richmond, Now Born, Jungle Nilz, hah... Peace!

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