Gold Lyrics

Gold lyrics

Intro: Method Man

 

 Aiyyo Shorty, yo that's my word

 Oh, y'all smellin y'all piss now y'all think y'all gold

 Yo anybody get caught playin

 Over here, I'm returnin em that's my word that they be blasted

 Anything from two-twenty to one-forty, that's mine

 Y'all need to step the fuck off

 Y'all niggaz ain't crazy for real

 

 Chorus: Genius

 

 Yo, the fiends ain't comin fast enough

 There is no cut that's pure enough

 I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload

 Product must be sold to YOU

 

 Verse One: Genius

 

 I'm deep down in the back streets - in the heart of Medina

 About to set off something more deep than a misdemeanor

 Under the subway, waiting for the train to make noise

 So I can blast a nigga and his boys - for what?

 He pushed up on the block and made the dope sales drop

 Like the crashin of Dow Jones stock

 I had to connect to cross seals, to catch more mil's

 Than ho-bitches got birth control pills

 I'm in the park, settin up a deal over blunt fire

 Bum niggaz sleepin on the bench, they had em wired

 Peeped my convo, the address of my condo

 And how I changed a nigga name to John Doe

 And while we set up camp, we got Vamp

 Put the stake through his heart, I ripped his fucking fangs apart

 Snake got smoked on the set like Brandon Lee

 Blown out the frame, like Pan Am flight 103

 He got swung on, his lungs was torn, the

 kingpin just castled with his rook and lost a pawn

 A regular on the block, and played look-out

 For playing predator with a glock, he should have took out

 

 Chorus:

 

 No neighborhood is rough enough

 There is no clip that's full enough

 I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload

 Product must be sold to YOU.. yo

 

 Fiends ain't comin fast enough

 There is no cut that's pure enough

 I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload

 Product must be sold to YOU

 

 Verse Two: Genius

 

 It's mandatory that

 I supply all my troops with mega firearms

 Big apes, and spread em out like crops on a farm

 to get CREAM, sometimes they repaint the scene

 Like the last episode on gates and other niggaz

 plant bombs til the smoke from the blast becomes thick

 and flows through all they knew, he's gun sick

 His glock clicks, like high-heeled shoes on parquay floors

 Mad sick, stand on hills and invade wars

 Filthy foul, shoveling dirt, he's out to hurt

 For instance, chop off hands, attack worth

 His idols would lock down airports and extort

 some import, catchin ten percent of what the fiends snort

 Up in the ski resorts, up in hills

 They move keys and had skis making drops on snowmobiles

 The plan was to expand, catch seven figures, release triggers

 And live large and bigger than my nigga

 Who promised his moms a mansion with mad rooms

 She died, and he still put a hundred grand in her tomb

 Open wounds, he hid behind closed doors

 And still organized his crime and drug wars

 

 Chorus:

 

 Fiends ain't comin fast enough

 There is no cut that's full enough

 I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload

 Product must be sold to YOU

 

 No neighborhood is rough enough

 There is no clips that's full enough

 I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload

 Product must be sold to YOU

 

 The peers that come is tight enough

 There is no niggaz that's fuckin up

 I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload

 Product must be sold, to YOU