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Skyscrapers
Method Man
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Lyrics
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Money, money, money
Duffle bag on the floor (yes), blowin' fast, let it go (yes)
Raise a glass for the coast (coast), we the last of the GOATs
Niggas funny when they broke (what?), say they love me when they don't (no)
With the C's and the B's, I get money with 'em both (what up, though?)
Floor seats, fuck the bleachers, back to breathin' that ether (ooh)
Ridin' 'round with a feature (ah), nigga, this the Mona Lisa
Fuck bein' lyrical, I'm a walkin' miracle
Vultures in my cereal, music is my vehicle, negro spiritual
Slidin' down Imperial, nigga, this a different texture (ooh)
Homie, I ain't with the extras, full clip for the hecklers (what, what?)
In the hood, I'm a pharaoh, blue rag my apparel (yeah)
Party at the hotel (yeah), never hear a ho tell (shh)
I'm the shit if I do say, gin and juice over D'USSÉ (ooh)
Strippers jumpin' outta Snoop cake (ooh), lil' nigga, how the truth taste?
In the meanwhile, I'm diggin' through these weed piles
Mama, look at me now (look at me)
Martha on speed dial (ay)
Verified in the streets, rap sheet, got a lotta fans
Energy, Long Beach, see through 'em like a hologram
Chasin' a bill, back in the field, got my conceal, call it Lucille
Keepin' it trill on Cypress Hill, you gotta be real (whoop, whoop)
This shit here built to last, had to break the hourglass
Slow money come fast, it's just a doggy bag
Now go 'head and get mad, never been a kiss-ass
Them woke me out my slumber, 'bout to do numbers on your bitch ass
To all my young Black entrepreneurs, stack paper
Skyscrapers, get you some motherfuckin' haters
And my young rap entrepreneurs, reach your goals
Fuck them hos, through the concrete grew a rose
Ain't tell you that the world was yours? Stack your paper
Skyscrapers, fuck all you motherfuckin' haters
All my young rich entrepreneurs, keep your vision
Fuck your system, turn that cap into capitalism
John Wilkes in the booth, I'm a hunnid rope when I shoot
So tailor-made in my suit, I'm the Michael J of my group
This Johnny Blaze and that's Snoop, and that's Dr. Dre in the coupe
He get the queue, I don't Bishop, ain't no O.J. in this juice
Another day, 'nother pick up, but I ain't playin' no hoops
With this inner circle, I figured I'd try and stay in the loops
Stick to the script, this a stick up, but I'ma stick to the truth
Black thought with a Black fist up, like I'ma stick to my roots
I'm hot, boss, don't slip, in New York, I'm drippin' with hot sauce
And I'm feelin' real Gucci, that means I'm drippin' on knock-offs
Party just like a rockstar and I'm sippin' a Rockstar
Your woman think I'm crack and I know I'm gettin' my rocks off
Most these rappers is fiends, I mean, they know where the rocks are
It's like they hit the rock and hit rock-bottom to rock hard
But me and Boss Dogg keep a Roscoe like Boss Hogg
My cause? Just because, because you lost, you a lost cause
Go 'head and get bad, I'ma go 'head and get cash
And I don't get sleep, I get big bags, you big mad