Millennium Line Up

[Intro: Method Man (Solomon Childs)] Say what? (Niggas gon' think I got beef) Say what? (Come on, come on) Say what? [Chorus: Solomon Childs] Hit you with the new Millenium Line-Up Niggas is hons but yo we all fired up Leavin industry heads and CEO's tied up Talk is talk, you get ya jaw wired up [Method Man] Made from the best shit on Earth I bring it to ya first, sick verse from the dirts In the darkness we lurk, load a cartridge and burst On the scene, like a news team Let 'em all Eye Witness, the Method how I do things Perfected, my routine's are hectic and knockin General Electric, I'm shockin (bzzz) Now who top ten? The rotten, Clan once forgotten Niggas poppin Crys' now, they stock market droppin They poison, I'm the antitoxin, that keep the party rockin And got me for assault, Johnny Cochran Get me off, grant in the vault, if I walk Put that order in the court, yeah Jimmy Crack callin, who the fuck really care? (Yeah) World best prepare for Tical 2, beware Or be gone outta here, you be warned Fuck off, get off that bullshit And take the fuckin tux off, now it's on [Solomon Childs] Thug style, far from a pretty boy My hardcore murder got DJ's screamin, "I told ya" Hardcore composer, creapin even closer Solomon scriptures written upon my shoulders Militant rap vultures How dare you and your crew pull out to battle! Annihilation, throw in ya towels Peep my West Brighton wolves start to howl See, '74, March 9 style, it's on So be prepared to fight Lyrics hotter than a B-Town night Rap formats for combat Solomon'll throw elbows, so stop frontin Mama said, "God forbid my baby take the time to write somethin" MC's levitated, live in concert hotter than Earth, Wind & Fire The worlds collide and divide, see my style of haywire [Chorus] [Q] What? Uh! Fuck the mic, spark the hydro, natural like the rhino Knock you out like shadows on stage, ya hottest rival Might get stiffle, and watch the crowd bounce ya life out Raise the lifeforce, my only aim is like the rifle Street is cycle, here in this game here we disciples We only get triffle, open ya eyes you see a bible Stainless scapel, BS will touchin collateral Fuck the manuals, the automatic'll leave you casual Drop you lateral, then charge you like a bitch's vaginal Bring ya can-a-dles, let you know that's only flammable Leave ya several, ya nice whore screamin for medical My verse is federal, gettin money from this chemical The only mineral, is Money Makin niggas physical So use ya visual, search the streets for ya crystal ('99) The mic is on, you only evacuate like pistol [Son Don Moet] Ah shit, it's '98 again Yo, eh-yo, my man Big John keep my high to death I'll empty this Tec to ya mouth 'til there's nothin left Yo the feds wanna trap me but I got quick, first step And I brawled out, so tell me what's next (Yeah) I used to let off, bust a Tec off Pop the cork off, Moet off Like Janet, it's time to +Set it Off+ Let's history, I'm makin all y'all niggas feel my misery Pissy off the Crys', but Crystal mixed with Hennessy Remember me? First with the GS3 +It's All About the Benji's+ like my man PD No question 'bout my flow cuz I got it, got it Think I'm Master P cuz I be +'Bout It, 'Bout It+ I stay laced, all custom-made suits, Italiano Beachhouse Carribiano, with Cap and Swiss models (Yo) Yea, I know, you like my style cuz I be rippin this shit (Yeah) Iced to the cross, y'all niggas is sick with it What? [Chorus] [Outro: Son Don Moet] Yea, yea, '99 Mr. Meth, Solomon Childs My nigga Q, what? What? And me, Son Don, uh Yea, we out