Popa Wu

Popa Wu - Three Amigo's (If It's On) lyrics

rate me

(feat. King Just, Method Man, Sic)

[Intro: Method Man]

Say what? Ain't no pushin

Say what? None of that shit goin on

Yo

[Method Man]

Made from the best shit on Earth

I bring it to ya first, sick verse from the thurst

In the darkness we lurk, load a cartridge and burst

On the scene, like a new team

Let 'em on our 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, to rot and land 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 us all, Johnny Cochran

Get me off, grant them the ball, if I walk

Put that order in the court, yeah

Give me crack on and who the fuck really care, yeah

World best prepare for Tical, to beware

Or be gone outta here, you be warned

Fuck all, get off that bullshit

And kick the fuckin tux off, now it's on

[Chorus: all]

If it's on, then it's on

We can get it on, gat for gat

Track for track, song for song

If it's on, then it's on

We can get it on

So what ya want nigga, ya want nigga? huh?

[King Just]

You got the beat from another planet

Think I don't rock like granite

Lyrical giantical, submerge the Titanic

Panic with the frantic, antic watch them vanish

In the zone, by my own, maricon, if you Spanish

The outlandish, even though they can't stand us

You better off gettin pick a size, tryin to ban us

Either way you put it off, I'mma be heard

That's my word, Stone Cold, Goldberg

Like a nerve, don't fuck what ya heard

That nigga just started hangin out on the curb

What's the verdict, soundin like me, you can't word it

I put it in overdrive, while you short circuit

Worship the ground that I walk on

I brought on, all the real niggas that you talked on

Blahzay Blah, so on, it's a done deal, don't even go on

Soundin nauseous, to choke on strong, to get my smoke on

[Chorus]

[Sic]

Talkin 'bout gats, ain't no bustin clacks, and ain't hustlin

Too many cats that wanna rap, and ain't sayin nuthin

Foolin ya self, how let ya ass do it to ya self

When it comes to cash, we the ones doin it, who else?

Walkin our dogs, ya cats better beat yours

Hot heat reach y'all, before you even get a chance to recharge

You weak paw, me and my street niggas a' eat y'all

We all, guess they ain't no question that we sure

B-song, soon as you throw the fuckin beat on

Dick riders ride, followers follow our lead on (you a fly guy)

I'ma have to air ya guys out

My shit is plat' before it even exit my mouth

S.I.N.Y. nigga, who wan' try?

Treatin a batty boy head, boom bye bye

I.Q. sky high, I flaunt y'all to hardcore

Conquer, why you frontin dunn? You don't want war

[Chorus x2]

[Outro: Method Man]

Three Amigos (we can get it on)

*Method Man talkin Spanish*

Punk! yeah yeah yeah yeah

King Just

Sic

Mr. Meth

We gon polly to the death, yo

S.I.N.Y., 10304 [echo]

Get this song at:  amazon.com  sheetmusicplus.com

Share your thoughts

0 Comments found