Ghetto B.I.

[Intro: Method Man] Yeah, hah, we vibing, Channel Live-in All day, hah, come on! Yo! [Verse 1: Method Man] It's me, the M-E-T-H, I O-D and you want dope shit Sniff a hold ki, my code read be my conscience Telling me it don't make sense Then God is nonsense a nigga's best defense is his offense So yo I watch po-po, and ducking dodo Thirty cent a go-go, trying to steal my Mojo Oh no, you're fucking with a pro who go for dolo For sure though, I seasoned veteran, holier dobo Come on now Judge Judy, you're telling lies to our vision While our black youth get imprisoned When my eyes see through your eyes, you're hypnotized Subconsciously you change the station to Channel Live That underground hardcore sound, who said it died? Cause win in this, me and nine's the first to fry For a nigga, live by the fire, die by the flame Happy I'm gone, knowing my son gon' be the same It's the diggy-dog DAT, who put his feelings On the pad with the pen, Unleash the Dragon again Uh, I'm on ya, like hot grease on a skillet Gorillas on Real TV just living with us [Verse 2: Hakim] I'm living like a hundred In a Jeep, stolen, wolves in sheep's clothing All beef frozen, bust like cheap Trojan's Naturally strolling, blunts and weed smoking We keep choking, bitches on their knees open I spit like a automatic, semi-bark and park And if you hear me starting, blame the Remy Martin So lick a shot, ghetto people, dutches and c-lo Ducking the repo and fucking a lady seal Rhymes by divine ego, smoked out in a Cadillac Regal With a mommy on my beach-o There's eight million stories, only six million ways to die There's two million niggas getting away with crime Plus two million more wack niggas trying to rhyme Now that's four million niggas trying to eat at one time It keeps the thugs gunning and blood running And the judge fronting, enough to make a nigga touch something [Chorus: Method Man (Rowdy Rahz) Tuffy] Niggas fucking with that strick-nine, they might not get mine So they owe me big time, it's Ghetto Business Niggas jack cars and rap stars watch at the gas bar Bitches dancing naked on their lap, it's Ghetto Business (Niggas hold ones, hot ones, stay in the biscuit Ghetto nigga so of course it's Ghetto Business) Blunts and weed son, ghetto seeds son I got what you need son, it's all Ghetto Business [Verse 3: Tuffy] This is for the senile walking on the Green Mile My lyrics be like the spirit of a teen gone wild Shit it's after ten bitch, where's yo' child? The nine in this pocket, locking it down like P now I did the knowledge to the born, your style is straight corn I woke up in the morning, heard yo' shit and just yawned You fucking up my high, no lie, you could die So just ain't for my mind yo 'fore I break you up like Guy It's the, Earth clinger, new style bringer Rappers fronting in the war, playing fat like Corporal Klinger We still bring the hardcore with R&B singers While the beast ask you out like hoes on Jerry Springer [Verse 4: Rowdy Rahz] Yo, Rowdy, hot balls, flow so sick And I won't stop 'til I'm so so rich While y'all niggas spit I, blow hits Don't waste time, son I don't waste rhymes You minute shit, track done like squids If you ain't hot, come like this Real niggas hold the gun like this Pop something, one in your leg Make your ass run like this, now picture that Defeat Ral? Never that, son son you brave You ain't a man cause you got a little something to shake I've been a thug since the sixth grade, rocking the fade Young to me, look what the ghetto done to me Made me bolder now, heart colder now Brick soldier now, gun holder now Niggas snatch my chain? Catch and hold 'em down Hit him 'em with the hot slugs, life over now I know you wanna test Ral, what you waiting for? I live one-thirty-eight, basement door City and north, you can't escape the Ral Find me where Channel Live be at What is this? Ghetto Business *beat switch* [Outro (Freestyle): Rowdy Rahz] You ain't gonna blow up shit, you're merely a bomb threat How the fuck you gonna move a crowd? You ain't moved out from your mom's yet I'm a vet., better yet a vet-er-an The word Smif-N-Wessun like Megatron Understand, I'm past hip-hop I should be put into tiny zip-locks Distributed by those who flip rocks Leak use after wordsmith be So dope you better sniff me And learn to keep me out your mouth Get me, I'm going to Armaghetto, swiftly My whole, clique be, sickly So we don't sleep, we spit in bed Those that's trying to get hit in the head Fuck around and get hit in the head Everything I write is either a death sentence Or a bloodline for those who, love nines We don't stand in club lines, we VIP Thugs love to hear me spit that If you ain't down with Ghetto Business There's exit, punk, hit that