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Blackout
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Redman
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1
[Redman]
2
It's Funk Doc
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Where da weed at, bitch?!
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I speed back wist, down to one-way from cops
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See that shit?
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Believe that shit!
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Slaughter straight to camcorder
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I'm too hot for T.V.
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Backdraw water, my windpipes attached to
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Project-ballers
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You yell: "Turn the heat down!"
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My voice, divi-di-round-sound
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Some heard 'round town
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And chances are y'all leavin', round now
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Wait later; will make funk page paper
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Date-raper with juvenile eighth-graders
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Hit the high school at one-eight-seven Caesar
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When I bust y'all
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Need to back four acres
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Doc, y'all, and that's my man, JabberJaw
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The shitlist ready; who next to scratch off?
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I'm from the underground; my soundlib
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Platform shoes to bitches; four hundred pounds!
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[Chorus]
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Get up, stand up, back up, push up
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Jump up, act up to make you feel it!
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Brrrrr... stick 'em, ha ha ha stick 'em
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Brrrrr... stick 'em, ha ha ha stick 'em
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Yo, blackout, shoot out, smoked out, move out
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Even knock ya tooth out to make y'all feel it!
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Brrrrr... stick 'em, ha ha ha stick 'em
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Brrrrr... stick 'em, ha ha ha stick 'em
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[Meth]
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Now I'm the street-talkin', dog walkin'
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Approach me with extreme caution
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Oh, now you forcin'?
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My hand that rock yo' cradle
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Often I'm hot-scorchin'
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But stone cold like Steve Austin
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If you smell what Tical cookin'
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Ain't tryin' to see central bookin'
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So till ya gon' stop lookin'
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Know what you did last summer?
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So I started hookin'
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You past shookin'
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Offer open can of ass-whoopin'
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Ain't no tomorrows in the Method's Little Shop Of Horrors
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Go ask your father who the father from the (Park) hill
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To (Mariners) Harbor
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You know tha saga, marijuana blunts, and Goldschlager
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With deadly medley, y'all ain't ready for Shakwon and Reggie
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Don't even bother to radio for back-up
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Alright then, ya man got slapped up
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Extorted for his icin'
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Street life is triflin'
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Body over here!
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Nigga pull a Tyson and bite a nigga' ear
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Precisin', slicin', juggerless the cut-crew
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Ruggeder, predator, viking, etcetera
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People's champ; niggaz be takin' off competitors
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Reachin' for the microphone
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Relax and light a bone
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Straight from the Catacombs
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The Children Of The Corn that don't got a clue
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Prepare for desert storm!
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[Chorus]
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I scored one point one on my SAT
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And still push a whip with a right and left AC
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Gorilla, Big Dog; if my name get called
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I'm behind the brick wall with arsenic jars
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Spit poison
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Got a gun permit; draw
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Gundown at sundown
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You keep score!
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This training-course, and y'all ain't fit
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On my crew-tombstone put: "We all ain't shit."
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[Meth]
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Yo, all you gonna be, want to be
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When will you learn?
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Want to be Doc and Meth?
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Gotta wait ya turn
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I spit a forty-one revolver on New Year's Eve
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With the mic in my hand, I mutilate emcees
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The most slept on since Rip Van Wink
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My shit stink with every element from A to Zinc
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So what you think?
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I'm a blackout on just one drink?
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You must be crazy!
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A little off the wall maybe
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Go get a shrink
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[Chorus]
Blackout (Album Version (Explicit))
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