| Lyrics: | Intro:
Duel, worthy of a general
If you want to fight, fight with me!
One to
one! Man to man!
Get ready to gel team!
Live and direct from the one-six-ooh
We
got Tical, pow! Raekwon the Chef, Tical!
It's about to go on, Tical!
You make the call, I
make the call!
It's all for all
Method Man, Raekwon the Chef
(count my shells)
And there's about to be one left
(count my shells, nigga)
I know you know it'son kid
(Bring that shit I don't give a fuck!)
*bell rings*
Verse One: Method Man
Who lit that shit it was I the chinky-eye
Cheeba-hawk from New York, Tical Staten
Isle
niggaz thought, that they could walk a dog but they caught
a bad situation, cause I'm
a sandwich short
of a picnic, cause you ain't equipped with the sickening
style, blowing
up the spot like ballistic
missiles, I be comin through like the four-nine-three-eleven
tearing up the power-u, Me-Tical
A bad motherfucking buddah monk, what the fuck
hit
your chest, like cardiac arrest, blow the front
out the frame, hit the pussycat for the pain
of the dog shit, nobody move run your garments
A rugged vet, terrible like a Champion
sweat
Wrap a power in a tec, to wet
a nigga up, with all the dangerous diseases
Sniffling sneezing coughing aching stuffy head fever
Fucker, I think it's bout time that
you suffer
Bobbin on my nob like an all day sucker
*bell rings* Bitch!
Meth Vs. Chef
(it's my turn) Meth Vs. Chef
(yo let's bring that shit baby) Meth Vs. Chef
(yo, yeah,
one more time nigga) Meth Vs. Chef
(callin me out, it's goin off) I blow your fuckin ass to
death
*bell rings*
Verse Two: Raekwon the Chef -ac |
