Testo Say (feat. Lauryn Hill)

[Lauryn][Method Man] Yeah yeah, yeah yeah yeah Yeah, yeah yeah, yeah yeah yeah Yeah (Yeah) Yeah yeah (Yo) [Method Man] Damn, I hate it when it rain Ever since I came in the game Some hated on the fame A lot of niggas done changed And started actin' strange Even labels turning they backs And started backing lames Radio is the same, whole lotta speculatin' These mutherfuckas defacatin' on the name Wu-Tang, if this is where the hip-hop is Radio lyin' then, that ain't where hip-hop live It lives in the streets, we eat to live they livin' to eat I'm fed up, that nigga rides in 'em, givin 'em sleep R.I.P., make me the king of all I see And when death call I'm good I got call ID See it was planned in the front, now they just gon' front Like my joints is on proactive, and they just don't bump Then niggas gon' say I lost my skill when in fact they all been programmed And lost they feel, fo' real Chorus: [Lauryn](Method Man] They've got so much things to say right now They've got so much things to say They've got so much things to say right now (Yeah) They got so much things to say (Yo) [Method Man] Damn, another artist chokes again They ain't cut as close as him or even broke the skin See how niggas ain't yo friends, when there ain't no ends Don't care who the case offend, don't underrate my pen I got what it takes to win, while ya'll are thinking I'm trash Loving the taste of success and this drink in my glass Watch 'em cosign that whack shit, give it a pass till it's gone Quicker than Red, can't get rid of them clubs When they're wrong, call the cops, they credibility's shot It's time to learn, what hot really is and really is not Off brain niggas, Meth gonna let 'em know off top Don't get smacked on dvds, trying to show off blocks I can't stop cause my enemies plot, or cause the cops want me Shackled and locked inside the penalty box And while they waitin' for my shit to flop They gettin' pimped like hoes Sellin' they ass just to get my spot, come on man Repeat Chorus Ask Miss Hill, half these critics ain't got half this skill Often so hungry that they have to steal If I didn't have my deal, and didn't have this mass appeal Then I'm back up in that trap, swingin' crack it's real And that ain't worth the time, so search and find a new nerve And here's three words: stop working mine It take a lot more to hurt my pride Jerk my vibe more than media lies, cry when dirt dog die nigga The last album wasn't feeling my style This time my foot up in they ass but they feelin' me now Cause Tical, he put his heart in every track he do But somehow yall find someway to give a whack review It ain't all good, they writin' that I'm Hollywood Tryin' to tell you my shit ain't ghetto and they hardly hood Come on man, until you dudes can write some rhymes Keep that in mind when you find yourself reciting mines Repeat Chorus