Lyrical .44

[Intro]
[Redman] Selekta come!!!!!
[Damian "Jr. Gong" Marley] Play this song on your fuckin' radio
[Method Man] Okay!
[Damian "Jr. Gong" Marley] Play this song on your fuckin' radio
[Method Man] Step to my bidness

[Verse 1: Method Man]
Oh, no! Another flow! Lyrical forty-fo'
If it gets deep, jump in feet first and hold yo' nose
I'm a beast when you step on my toes
You hear my whistle checkin 'em hoes
You see my pistol lettin' it go
I couldn't wait to do a song, right? Hardly 'gon do ya wrong
Time to party — Meth, Stephen Marley and Jr. Gong
So selekta! Come wit' it!
Awww, shitted! Now y'all done did it!
Supper ready, y'all come get it!
Now, who gon' stop me, block me? Pop lock me, knock me?
Jamaica posse, Most High Haile Selassie
Allah willin', another sound boy killin'
I'm hot, bitch! I don't catch cold or catch feelings
The truth be the ghetto youth
And Def Jam — y'all know the Meth Man take care of his fam
That's what ya better do!
Examine our skin, we plannin' to win
Worldwide, tell the people we be jammin' again

[Verse 2: Redman]
Doctor! Make way for Reggie Hammond
Got more hoes than Grand Canyon, ah!
Dig 'em out, then tie 'em up for ransom, ah!
Shoot at your feet, make you start dancin', ah!
Pissin' on your picnics where ya campin'
Doctor got the ziplock from Ziggy
When the Zig Zag rolled, I'll rip your zip code
Got bitches fucked up off the hypno
I tip-toe, then wait 'til they bend over
(There I go!) A-yo, money!
I got a moped in Jamaica, sittin' on twenties
(Chk-chk-blaow!!) Look out! Guns in the air!
(Chk-chk-blaow!!) Selekta! Guns in the air!
No Belvedere, it's Tiger Bone to get it crackin'
A-yo, dread, right or wrong?
I'm a sinner, winner of the underground swimmers
Eat dinner in front of Bob Marley pin up!

[Hook: Redman]
I don't care about your bling-bling-bling
Over here, we let dem tings ring
BLAOW!!! Give it to me!
BLAOW!!! Give it to me!
BLAOW!!! Shoot it up!
BLAOW!!! Give it up!
I don't care about your bling-bling-bling
Over here, we let dem tings ring
BLAOW!!! Give it to me!
BLAOW!!! One time!
BLAOW!!! Give it to me!
BLAOW!!! Yeah!

[Verse 3: Damian "Jr. Gong" Marley]
I neva wonda why so much ganja reach ya
And dem a wonda how so much conquer feature
Blunt dem so big a must fi bun it Bob and Peter
Teach it like a teacher, preach it like a preacher, put you in a fever
Pussy couldn't style mi up plus no underachiever
Gimme di rizzla, gimme de blem and gimme de sensimilla
Gimme de choons, gimme de cup and a couple señorita
Jr. Gong di veteran, a trouble when mi reach ya
DJ fi fi fan dem inna grandstand and di bleacha
Jumpin' off di meter, you best believe yah
Babylon a smell skunk and couldn't get mi neitha
Well, ever since a likkle ghetto yute, dem get mi crippled!
So mi know seh Babylon dem a go get a weapon!
Every time when we hear some politician trippin'!
When a di big ting promote, I'm right there wid di clip in!
So just smile now yuh flip yuh likkle flippin' lippin'!
Got a big forty five it's trigga finga lickin'!
Then mi buck up yuh face so far yuh don't know what's happenin'!
Dem wonderin' how yuh get so slim it's like yuh fat and go gym!
Get mi girl inna mi cabin and mi cabin stabbin'!
It is slappin', jappin', dappin', it is non-stoppin'!
Hey! No pork can cook inna mi kitchen!
If a gal try dat, she's a dead pigeon!
Well! Woman a tear off mi pants stitchin'!
Natty dreadlocks inna di benz and have recline switchin'!
If a bwoy nuh like dat, him may end up missin'!
Rastafari dun tell yuh, but yuh don't listen!

[Outro: Damian "Jr. Gong" Marley]
Play this song on your fuckin' radio
Play this song on your fuckin' radio