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Episode 7: Bridge Boys Video (MV)






Method Man - Episode 7: Bridge Boys Lyrics
Official




[ Featuring ROC, Kash Varrazano ]

Rockness, what up?
Ron Browz, what up?
Staten Island, what up?
Hanz, what up?
Apple, what up?
Time to go in, hah
Ch'yeah

Feel the tension when I walk into a room
Watch your step and watch your tone, boy, you talkin' a goon
Been a problem since them old heads was snortin' off the spoon
Half you rappers gettin' short bread, we often loaner domes
Put a ratchet on your forehead, I'm talkin' to baboons
I remain a Major Payne if you ain't part of my platoon
I'm a warhead, you know, big explosion with the 'shroom
It's the sandman, they hopin' I dont show up with the broom
That's a sweeper
They knockin' at your door, that's the reaper
With lead arms all around your head, that's a Sleeper
Rappers paranoid, that's the reefer
I mean if she a bad broad and let you raw dog, that's a keeper
My sisters, they don't rock with my dad, my moms either
Now I'm here with Roc, I'ma dad with mom's features
Ironic, I never make a threat that I couldn't promise
Be honest, I'm dope and I ain't never spoke Ebonics

The players might change but the game don't stop
Tryna move some 'caine, get it Range or a drop
Forbes sayin' I made it
But tell 'em I'm hood famous
The players might change but the game don't stop
Tryna move some 'caine, get it Range or a drop
One more blunt 'cause I'm faded
Just for the niggas that hate it

Ten-ten wins, hindsight's 20/20
Thirty-thirty up in forty-forty, light somethin' ugly
It's a fifty-fifty chance niggas gon' die over nothin'
Get hit, sit calm, nigga, try somethin' funny
Road Warrior, once I almost got locked up abroad
Heard you snitchin' on bitches, dude, you locked up abroad
Maybe Jamaican fakin' but you would not, no reward
Class by myself but I am not no schoolboy
I'm not a momma's boy but I am my momma's boy
For her, I would gladly go nuts, that's my Almond Joy
I ain't no Boy Scout but your boy scout your boy like a scout and report
Put one in your boy's scalp
Meth'll manhandle your man and you
I ain't even gon' let him do that, bo-blap, blam dude
Don't get your hands dirty, son
Son gon' do his whole fam dirty
Word to P and Dirty

The players might change but the game don't stop
Tryna move some 'caine, get it Range or a drop
Forbes sayin' I made it
But tell 'em I'm hood famous
The players might change but the game don't stop
Tryna move some 'caine, get it Range or a drop
One more blunt 'cause I'm faded
Just for the niggas that hate it
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

[ Correct these Lyrics ]

We currently do not have these lyrics. If you would like to submit them, please use the form below.


We currently do not have these lyrics. If you would like to submit them, please use the form below.




Rockness, what up?
Ron Browz, what up?
Staten Island, what up?
Hanz, what up?
Apple, what up?
Time to go in, hah
Ch'yeah

Feel the tension when I walk into a room
Watch your step and watch your tone, boy, you talkin' a goon
Been a problem since them old heads was snortin' off the spoon
Half you rappers gettin' short bread, we often loaner domes
Put a ratchet on your forehead, I'm talkin' to baboons
I remain a Major Payne if you ain't part of my platoon
I'm a warhead, you know, big explosion with the 'shroom
It's the sandman, they hopin' I dont show up with the broom
That's a sweeper
They knockin' at your door, that's the reaper
With lead arms all around your head, that's a Sleeper
Rappers paranoid, that's the reefer
I mean if she a bad broad and let you raw dog, that's a keeper
My sisters, they don't rock with my dad, my moms either
Now I'm here with Roc, I'ma dad with mom's features
Ironic, I never make a threat that I couldn't promise
Be honest, I'm dope and I ain't never spoke Ebonics

The players might change but the game don't stop
Tryna move some 'caine, get it Range or a drop
Forbes sayin' I made it
But tell 'em I'm hood famous
The players might change but the game don't stop
Tryna move some 'caine, get it Range or a drop
One more blunt 'cause I'm faded
Just for the niggas that hate it

Ten-ten wins, hindsight's 20/20
Thirty-thirty up in forty-forty, light somethin' ugly
It's a fifty-fifty chance niggas gon' die over nothin'
Get hit, sit calm, nigga, try somethin' funny
Road Warrior, once I almost got locked up abroad
Heard you snitchin' on bitches, dude, you locked up abroad
Maybe Jamaican fakin' but you would not, no reward
Class by myself but I am not no schoolboy
I'm not a momma's boy but I am my momma's boy
For her, I would gladly go nuts, that's my Almond Joy
I ain't no Boy Scout but your boy scout your boy like a scout and report
Put one in your boy's scalp
Meth'll manhandle your man and you
I ain't even gon' let him do that, bo-blap, blam dude
Don't get your hands dirty, son
Son gon' do his whole fam dirty
Word to P and Dirty

The players might change but the game don't stop
Tryna move some 'caine, get it Range or a drop
Forbes sayin' I made it
But tell 'em I'm hood famous
The players might change but the game don't stop
Tryna move some 'caine, get it Range or a drop
One more blunt 'cause I'm faded
Just for the niggas that hate it
[ Correct these Lyrics ]
Writer: Clifford Smith Jr., Jahmal Bush
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group

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