Lyrics Language: Scots Song writer/composer(s): Robert F. Diggs, Clifford Smith
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Method ManI get my thang in action Lyrics:
("Good wu tang martial expert
There's not many who can match up with him")
He'll give you a heart condition
If you fuck around like that there
Tell you it ain't no good for the bloodstream
You know god damn whatever and uhh
It's dumb and big, it's dumb and big
Mira, Meth-Tical comin' through with the suu
Lie in cut for y'all
Check it out
Niggaz wanna test my steez, nigga please
I black that eye like peas, you better freeze
in your tracks, a Wu-Tang killer bee's on ya back
I comes for the honey plus the phat money sack
You want it all? Yeah I want it all like that
I stab my own moms in the back for a stack
Niggaz like, "Damn, why you want it like that?" Why is that?
'Cause I'm a dog, and I got no love for the cat
Attitude's cold like the North polar cap
Where I do my dirt's a little further down the map is that so?
A little Buckwhylin Island called Stat'
Where niggaz carry gats in they Black Moon hat
Now I'm mad known for the bones and the rap
And youse an unknown with a faulty contract
Wake up and smell the Met-chod motherfucker contact
Villain in the cypher from the foe when head crack
An Indian giver and I'm out to take it back
Shaolin Island, baby where you at?
A runaway train that be runnin' on ya track
That's how it's goin down, yeah, it's goin down like that
I gets my thang in action
To live, to love, to see, to learn
Yo! Tell em what's happenin'
What's happenin?
I'll tell yo' ass what's happenin
Tell 'em what's happenin
It's goin' on out here, brothers ain't got no peers
And they smokin' funny shuddup yo' damn mouth!
I swing funky rap routines and tap the jaws
Spot ya twenty points and you still can't score
Nuttin' 'cause you ain't got no points in this game
Kid you frontin' I'm home run hittin', you be buntin'
Fresh out the toilet, I got my shit together
When I'm good, I'm good, when bad, I'm better
You want it? Whatever I'll be the stormy weather
Rain comin down, so weatherproof your leather
Jacket, a nigga with a axe couldn't hack it
I spark 'em like a match
Coming back it's the met chod, say it loud
I'm the met-chod man clap yo' hands, now check it
See me in the mix, rollin' fat, bustin' flicks
While my physical brother came through and got me lift
Niggaz, that I walk by, give me the eye
The moment is fuckin' me up, killin' my high
Nigga get back, ya pussy cat, I'm fearsome
Basically that, I'm all of that, and then some
While I, was out on tour, goin' berserk
I heard you was at the sandbox and kickin' dirt
All on my name but you can't pull my file
You don't know me and you don't know my style
Comin' out dere like dat dere, Yea
Even Grizzly Adams couldn't bear
I taught the boy everything he know
Go on, you bad motherfuckers
See I told you that kid go back to that Dolemite
Everybody needs to love Dolemite
I love Dolemite, you love Dolemite
Hey, how you doin nigga, I know you
Knowin' I didn't when I did
Meth-tical shit, I told the boy
If ya can't get yourself a ten
The least you can do is spark five two's
And we out, method yea
Lyrics: I get my thang in action, Method Man [end]
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The lyrics on the most recent version are sanctioned by the composer, or owner of the rights to the lyrics, however, there may be lyrics that are more complete on the prior version(s) that have been submitted by a contributor to mp3lyrics.org
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