Method Man

Method Man - 4:20 lyrics

Roll that shit, light that shit, smoke it (roll it up niggaz)

Roll that shit, light that shit, smoke it (4:20, y'all, it's time, it's time)

Roll that shit, light that shit, smoke it (it's been a long time for this man

Niggaz been sleeping on the kid, man, everybody got some sideway shit to say)

Roll that shit, light that shit, smoke it (Carlo! Know what I'm saying, man? Yeah)

Fast or slow mo, oh no, Meth done made a killing

Call the po-po, oh niggaz is squealing, oh, y'all ain't feeling

Niggaz no more, the bigger they are, harder they go though

Good pussy put a hump in my back like Quasimoto

Hah, my sex ain't homo, season vet, hold the adobo

Got rappers on that low carb diet, y'all can't get no dough

I keep a low pro, file, excuse me as I get smoked out

Put hands on these niggaz, then put the roach out

Go head, I'm wishing you would, ask if it's good

Man, this Tarzan shit in the woods, my shit is hood, bitch

That means I'm hood rich, telling you lies

Straight out the pull-pit, it's like Merrill Lynch I'm on that bullshit

Real spit, money come first, and even worse

You need all your toes & fingers to count up what I'm worth, trick

So when I blow a smoke cloud in your face, just take a hint

Dick, you crowding my space, it's Mr. Meth, pa

It's 4:20, roll up, nigga getting smo-ked out

No seeds, California weed have you choked out

No doubt, roll up, which rims spoked out

4:20 mean you either roll up or roll out

Roll that shit, light that shit, smoke it

Roll that shit, light that shit, smoke it

So on and so on, I flow on

Power to our people, get your smoke on

And I'm so gone, off, that sour diesel

Hard to hold on, but hold on, it's like I'm Pretty Toney

With that robe, got terrorist shook, because I'm so bomb

The hood, put, me in position, I'm in the kitchen

With that cook book, the service I'm giving, birds they vision

Not a good look, told ya my nigga, Tical deliver

Hook or crook, lots of asses to kick, wish I had a bigger foot

Yeah, taking it there, hating who care

Y'all stay out my mental, I got killas waiting in here

To get you, as I sharpen my pencils, tear apart instrumentals

Fuck it, y'all niggaz is pussy, so is the dick that sent you

RZA, we done it again, Co-D occassion

Here's to short skirts and Ol' Dirt McGirt, okay, then

Let's get it popping, like it ain't nothing to get it popping

The big and rotten's the city, too good to be forgotten

The rap game won't like me

You can tell that a nigga is shiesty

If I die, my second born'll be like me

Slide dick to your wifey

Never know your baby boy just might be

Quick to rob a jack, he's so icey, stay dressed to kill

From the Hill, never ran, never will

Attitude, like, fuck you still, I see you missing the point

This is not a rap song, you get clapped on

Bullets break the bone, like the joint, call you out your name

Disrespect ya moms, spit on your dame

Go public, then, shit on your fame, you overlooking the fact

Where you from, is where we at

And y'all don't want no, parts, in that that

Caught your verse for sale, but real niggaz don't shoot & tell

We'd rather do the time and rot in the cell

The inner outer state, bi-coastal smoker

Inhale, Cali piff with a swift of glaucoma

Black jeans, black Timbs, black Benz roaster

Smoke rise, out the sun roof when I roll up

Verrazano, with no relation to Gravano

Carlo, shots are hollow, still cop a bottle

And pour some out, moment of silence, then I swallow

I'm still alive, and still the sun'll come out tomorrow

Shine shine shine, and grind, cuz it's money on my mind

And I'm moving like my life is on the line

For the bullshit, I really got no time, a full clip

Really gon' let ya niggaz know what's on my mind

When ya getting out of line, have them choppers lit up

You won't need a camera phone to get the picture

Chalk down, tape around, body bag zipped up

Carlo Verrazano, you can call me mister

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