Gold

[Intro: Method Man] Aiyo shorty, yo that's my word Oh, y'all smelling y'all piss now y'all think y'all gold Yo anybody get caught flinging over here I'm returning 'em, that's my word they getting blasted Anything from 220 to 140, that's mine Y'all need to step the fuck off Y'all niggas ain't crazy for real [Hook 1: GZA] Yo, the fiends ain't coming fast enough There is no cut that's pure enough I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload Product must be sold to you [Verse 1: GZA] I'm deep down in the back streets, in the heart of Medina About to set off something more deep than a misdemeanor Under the subway, waiting for the train to make noise So I can blast a nigga and his boys,for what? He pushed up on the block and made the dope sales drop Like the crash in the Dow Jones stock I had a connect to cross-sales, to catch more mill's Than ho-bitches got birth control pills I'm in the park setting up a deal over blunt fire Bum nigga sleeping on the bench, they had him wired Peeped my convo, the address of my condo And how I changed a nigga name to John Doe And while we set up camp, we got vamped Put the stake through his heart, I ripped his fucking fangs apart Snake got smoked on the set like Brandon Lee Blown out the frame like Pan Am Flight 103 He got swung on, his lungs was torn A kingpin just castled with his rook and lost a pawn A regular on the block that played lookout For preying predator with a Glock, he should have took out [Hook 2: GZA] No neighbourhood is rough enough There is no clip that's full enough I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload Product must be sold to you Fiends ain't coming fast enough There is no cut that's pure enough I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload Product must be sold to you [Verse 2: GZA] It's mandatory that I supply all my troops with mega firearms Big apes and spread 'em out like crops on a farm To get cream, sometimes they repaint the scene Like the last episode on gates, and other niggas Plant bombs till the smoke from the blast becomes thick And flows through, all they knew, he's gun sick His Glock clicks like high-heeled shoes on parquet floors Mad sick, stand on hills and invade wars Filthy foul, shovelling dirt, he's out to hurt For instance, chop off hands, attack worth His idols would lock down airports and extort Some import, catching ten percent of what the fiends snort Up in the ski resorts, up in hills They move keys and had the skis making drops on snowmobiles The plan was to expand, catch seven figures, release triggers And live large and bigger than my nigga Who promised his moms a mansion with mad room She died and he still put a hundred grand in her tomb Open wounds, he hid behind closed doors And still organizes crime and drug wars [Hook 3: GZA] Fiends ain't coming fast enough There is no cut that's pure enough I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload Product must be sold to you No neighborhood is rough enough There is no clips that's full enough I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload Product must be sold to you There's no cuffs that's tight enough There is no niggas that's fuck with us I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload Product must be sold to you