Therapy Lyrics - Masta Killa

Masta Killa: 

Yo, I gotta be around this music, it's therapeutic 

The first fresh [?] of the day is so clear 

When I walk, in my head, there's a voice that talks 

In my ear I can hear so clear, you think I'm buggin' right? 

I'm just contemplating the silent [?] 

Out to the Westside my killer Cali gangstas ride and get the head right 

Yo son, I'm on the next flight in 

Twist some [?] I'm guaranteed the right of his psalm before we reach 

Throw the instrumental on it, watch [?] pattern of speech 

[?] military arm ready to swarm, get your party on 

Drinks on the house tonight, ladies lookin' right 

Atmosphere nice and warm, we backstage like a hundred thieves strong 

Ghost want the red light on before we get on 

An hour's too short [?], we got a million songs 

Related 

18 Non-Traditional Yet Perfect Wedding Songs 

Watch Cardi B Joins James Corden For Carpool Karaoke 

Ariana Grande Adds Her Own Verse To "Last Christmas" 

Method Man: 

Yo I gotta be around this music, it's therapeutic 

Like my first blunt of the day to start the movement 

I'm sittin' in the room with a view, there's always room for improvement 

So I grab my coat and go and prove it 

Just me against the world, you can find me in the streets 

She'll spot me in the lobby, probably find me in the free 

Cop a 'Rari, the [?] in the lining of my seats 

Tryna put me in a lineup til' I wind up in the beast 

That's the belly, how dare they tryna tell me when to eat 

With a plate of food barely in my reach 

My team shoot dice, we used to shoot skelly in the streets 

Wear the same Pelle-Pelle's for a week 

But now we livin' life, and such a good life I wish that I could live it twice 

I'd probably make [?] my wife 

It's Wu-Tang Clan, always collect cheddar 

Proper education, always correct errors 

Photos 

Redman: 

Yo, bananas, Redman so gorilla 

Chi-town know I'm pimping the mic, nigga 

One hit, and chicks follow me like Twitter 

Crack when I talk, I like the mic [?] 

The fiends hit it, chicks swing wit' it 

I'll box niggas in like Dom King did it 

I get dough, [?] for the sick flow 

My weed more greener than Lou Ferrigno 

My right-hand man hand on the pistol 

I crack these squares up like Nabisco 

Oh, look at me, I'm lightweight 

But with the heart to peel back your white meat 

Yo wifey want me to make her wifey 

Hit it, make the bitch hyphy at high speed 

Doc