Blackout lyrics

Artist  : Man Method 
Song : Blackout



 Send "Blackout" Ringtone to your Cell 

 												
														   Blackout"

(feat. Redman)



[Redman]

It's Funk Doc

Where da weed at, bitch?!

I speed back wist, down to one-way from cops 

See thas' shit?!  Believe thas' shit!

Slaughter straight to camcorder, I'm too hot for
t.v.

Backdraw water, my windpipes attached to

Project-ballers

You yell: "Turn the heat down!"

My voice, divi-di-round-sound, 

some heard round town

And chances are ya'll leavin', round now

Wait later, will make Funk page paper 

Date Raper with juveline 8th Graders

Hit the High School at 187 Caesar

When I bust ya'll need to back 4 acres

Doc ya'll and that's my man JabberJaw

The shitlist ready, who next to scratch off?

I'm from the underground, my soundlib 

Platform shoes to bitches, 400 pounds!

[Chorus:]

[Meth & Red]

GET UP, STAND UP, BACK UP, PUSH UP

JUMP UP, ACT UP TO MAKE YOU FEEL IT!

Brrrrr...STICK 'EM, HA-HAHA STICK 'EM

Brrrrr...STICK 'EM, HA-HAHA STICK 'EM

Yo' BLACKOUT, SHOOT OUT, SMOKED OUT MOVE OUT, 

EVEN KNOCK YA TOOTH OUT, TO MAKE YA'LL FEEL
IT!

Brrrrr...STICK 'EM, HA-HAHA STICK 'EM

Brrrrr...STICK 'EM, HA-HAHA STICK 'EM

[Meth]

Now I'm the streettalkin', dogwalkin'

Approach me with extreme caution, OH NOW YOU
FORCIN'?

My hand that rock yo' cradle often I'm
hot-scorchin', 

but stone cold like Steve Austin

If you smell what Tical cookin',

ain't tryin' to see central bookin'

So til ya gon' stop lookin', know what you did
last

summer?

So I started hookin', you past shookin'

Offer open can of ass-whoopin'?

Ain't no tomorrow's in the Method's Little Shop
Of

Horrors

Go ask your father who the father from the
(Park)Hill

to (Mariners)Harbor 

You know tha saga, marijuana blunts and
Goldschlager

With deadly medley, ya'll ain't ready for Shakwon
and

Reggie

Don't even bother, to radio for back-up 

Alright then, ya man got slapped up extorted for
his

icin'

Streetlife is triflin'  *Body over here...! 

Nigga pull a Tyson and bite a nigga' ear

Precisin', slicin' juggerless the cut-crew

Ruggeder, Predator, Viking, excetera

People's champ, niggaz be takin' off
competetors

Reachin' for the microphone, relax and light a
bone

Straight from the Catacombs

The Children Of The Corn, that don't got a
clue

Prepare for desert storm!

[Chorus]



I scored 1.1 on my SAT

And still push a whip with a right and left AC

Gorilla, Big Dog, if my name get called

I'm behind the brickwall with arsenic Jars

Spit poison, got a gun permit draw

Gundown at Sundown you keep score!

This training-course and ya'll ain't fit

On my crew-tombstone put 'We All Ain't Shit'



[Meth]

Yo', all you gonna be, wanna be When will you
learn? 

Wanna be Doc and Meth? Gotta wait ya turn

I spit a .41 Revolver on New Year's Eve

With the mic in my hand I mutilate m.c.'s

The most slept on since Rip Van Wink

My shit stink with every element from A to
Zinc

So what you think? I'm a blackout on just one
drink?

You must be crazy! A little off the wall maybe

Go get a shrink...

[Chorus