| Disc 1 | ||||||
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| 1. |
| 2:00 | 
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[Interlude: Ghostface Killah]
Aiyo, Rae, aiyo, Rae, check it out, yo Let me go in there one more time and air these niggas out For old times sake, you know how we do, my nig' Old times sake, just for me, man, one more time, I'm begging you Let me just go in, and just fly on these niggas heads, man It's what I'm talking about [Ghostface Killah:] It's like a body in a project hallway, who did it? Who's the next nigga that sucked the snit-ich That's my word, it could never be me You see the deer head on the living room wall, like his neck fell off That can be all sculptured and glazed with gloss Call the shots that Bill Belichick would call Snake niggas slither all in the glass house, racial slurs When it's time to go to war, they cash out Throw 'em in the rear-naked choke, they tap out Niggas try to surround the kid, I backed out And threw two rocks at 'em, watching the ho drop I'm from a place where we locking the low glocks Yellowtape, the bodies, jiggy and road blocks Got the towels up in the air, it's so hot Talking bout Staten Island, profiling Switchblade city, the goons is wilding Escape from my slums, nigga, you got talent And we don't want the fifth of 'yac, we want the gallon ['Scarface' sample:] What you think I'm a fucking worm like you? I told you, man - [Method Man:] Vacate black, bust gats, wherever we at You all that, hit 'em in the chest, we fall back I got mines, nigga, where yours at? We call that, raw rap, got fiends in front of my door mat That Witty Unpredictable fly shit, drive-by shit These the niggas I ride with And we gon' get cake, ya'll, as soon as this pie split Smacking up the dry snitch, nigga, you my bitch Somebody put Tical on, matter fact, put Tical on One suuu, Staten Isle on 'em I bank roll, I break codes, and I ain't trynna catch another case, case closed Give me my crown, cause I deserve it, real dudes giving me pounds But not too close though, the semis'll round Bitches, running they mouth, goons, running your gate My team running the block, cops running my plates Well fuck that, Criminology rap Niggas hate, I hate back, floating in the flyest Maybach, nigga |
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| 2. |
| 2:04 | 
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| 3. |
| 0:36 |
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| 4. |
| 2:57 |
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5. |
| 3:25 |
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| 6. |
| 2:59 |
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| 7. |
| 3:55 |
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>
[Featuring Street Life] [Method Man] Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yea yo Yo yo yo yo yo yo yo All them real live motherfuckin niggaz step up front right now Its goin down One love to Long Island Hempstead in my heart baby Shaolin what? Come on come on HA! Dangerous ground Tre pound seven spin around for my bredren the clouds come down War and peace I take it to the street Land sharp on my lawn chop the thumbs off a thief And curse his first born, is this thing on? Send em to the children of the corn we the people See, niggaz through the eye of the demon My lethal injection, destroyin evil Hot Nikkel, private eye one pistol Aimin at your brain tissue, do or die Said the spider to the fly Could this one be tasty Like momma apple pie goodness, Johnny Blaze me On the job like Dick Tracy Hit the cure for that ill shit like Ben Casey, M.D. Symbolic thrill like god he shocked it Like a finger in a light socket, too good to be forgotten In the rotten apple I kick dirt on the sand castle Check the flavor all natural (Beat your feet) Hot Niks son (E-mizer) Before you get the main course (Taste a appetizer) Submerged in the word Heavy headed verbal Smack you, mentally disturb you attack you Thirty-six chamb once again comin at you Young gun got the body snatch you observe Yo eyes work you can only see through the third Eyeball baby Im the norm on the bird To shine on mental nourishment, you can dine on Track yellin at me get yo arrow god Victory is hard Regardless to whom or what They all get retard its a law Runnin through a house and your block party, we wreck-tion And Hot rock the body body, St. Bernards Couldnt save your enterrage plat lobotamy Leave ya mentally scarred, numb and possibly Dumb deaf and blind is it I keep your spine out the battery pack spark it with mine keep it movin Now everybody just throw your hands in the......(phone rings) What the fuck? Peace - who this? [Streetlife] Mind detect mind A P.L.O. da startin line Deep Space Nine Designed for knuckleheads who bust guns and throw signs Lets converse snatch the tap from your purse Body-surf on the verse head first Peeped your feet bitch straight beat you know wit the heat And you spazzed out spittin out teeth aint nothin please Big boys dont destroy blunt is so pop stare on 50 men convoy, spends to wear the big toy Rumble through the wasteland my hands on the silencer 40 caliber city slicker Staten Islander Synchronize minds combine thoughts that motivate Dont perpetrate pass the blunt let it circulate Street politicians on a suicide mission Crime vision finger itchin from a scope-view position Dangerous ground Tre pound seven spin around for my bredren the cloud comes down [Method Man] Yo Keep ya eyes open Love potion number nine poetry in motion Knowledge me the seventh sign Scold it canivin Infiltrate is most of mine Play em nonchalantly, calmly expose the nine Push and get shoved what the fuck gods thinkin of Comin in the club wit that screw face, actin up Is we men or mice, bad moon risin We wild for the night Kill a skitzofrenic nigga twice cuz-a Thats what happened when frontin on this Shaol brotha Island of Staten we in here no fear Assault wit intent To kill your whole regiment its real Startin wit yo president, duckin my dart gun Tear apart something you dont want it then dont start none Blaze one with Jonathon, part man part fly Handle my B-I camouflauge like G.I. Fat like Joe, a day in the life Your money or your life thats the life Everybody cant afford ice in the struggle Tryin to eat right another day another hustle hustle hustle (Uh huh uh huh uh huh uh huh uh huh) Dangerous ground Tre pound seven spin around for my bredren the clouds come down War and peace, I take it to the street Land sharp on my lawn chop the thumbs off a thief Motherfuck |
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| 8. |
| 2:32 |
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| 9. |
| 0:38 |
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| 10. |
| 3:01 |
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| 11. |
| 2:42 |
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| 12. |
| 3:12 |
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