The ghetto dwella's in your hood, hoodie down
Stomps from the Bronx, the boogie man from the Boogie Down
Momma never told me there would be days like this
That I'd be rippin tracks, gettin paid with my nigs
On tour, roar with that hardcore stuff
Niggas call bluffs (I give em no chance) I make it more rough
(And even slow dance) on niggas faces, rugged, fuck it
Them niggas got to love it cause we made this
I'm gettin papers with my peeps
As Party Arty keeps Bacardi so MCs meet the shotty
[A.G.]
Check the method but don't sweat the technique
Even made the baddest dime bitches get weak when the vets speak
(Hopin) That your head meets my bed sheets
(Now you're open) Like the Red Sea cause I'm potent
Don't fit? Don't force it, Flow got that 4-fifth
Who do with that voodoo, my doll it's that cordless
All this and that and then some
Get paid to put raps on tracks, I guess that's my income
The beat chills so they be comin back for refills
(My man shows his street skills) From here to the Peekskills
Kill the rumors, givin MCs brain tumors
Time to step off the set, gotta jet like Puma
[Chorus (2x)]
[Method Man]
What the blood clot, son lick a shot, show your love in the area
Forget me not, mass hysteria
My style revolves around blunts, the Methical
The one and only piece original, never phony
One love to my muthafucker A.G.
A true giant in the industry, hold your shoes up
(Word to God, youknowI'msayin)
Yeah, that's how it's goin down, you know who got the flava
We got the flava, the flava
So bring it on, so bring it on, all you muthafuckin corns, yeah

Lyrics to / for Got The Flava by Method Man.
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