Who Ya Rollin Wit Lyrics - Method Man

(feat. ODB) 

[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 

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[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 

Photos 

[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!