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