[Method Man]
It's that Blackout, spazzed out, G-String divas
Leave you assed out, passed out, it's cold
Pack your heat up, blow your back out
You bad mouth, make 'em all believers
Throwing rocks from a glass house, y'all ain't perfect either
See that cheeba and that hash out (garbage day tomorrow)
And I have yet to take that trash out, or emptied this cigar
RZA Ra, we amped, eh, Meth is on his job
It ain't nothing, like the French say; "que sera sera"
So let's move on, until the day we laying in the casket
With them suits on, and I'm so cool that hell is only luke warm
Been too strong, for too, long, I'll probably die
With my boots on, and on my way to cash a coochie coupon
You know I'm, proper, don't let them boys confuse you
The fact is Meth, I'm harder than bottles made by Yoo-Hoo
Wu-Tang, welcome to the House of Flying Daggers
Where the truth aim, flying out the mouth of flying rappers
There it is...