Back to the previous page

Artist: Shyheim f/ Infamous Bluesteele, Method Man
Album:  Manchild
Song:   Am I My Brother's Keeper?
Typed by:, ThaMasta@Wu-Lyricz.Com

[Intro: Method Man]
Eh yo, eh yo, eh yo
Yo, yo, yo
My son want his back, fuck that (my shine is beautiful)
It's time right now, you know?
It's like we ain't fuckin with no lame ass niggas no more
Bein bullshit by bullshit niggas (for real)

[Method Man]
Am I my brother's keeper?
Theres no need to ask, I'm the creeper
Million dollar man, Johnny Cash
Puff the reefer, sometimes mix it with the hash
Hard to keep up, 100 yards dash, beat your feet up
Jumpin Jack Flash on a muthafuckas ass
Caught 'em in the weed stash tryin to tap the bag
Now he suspect, read him his rights, it's only right
I never, never, never in my long-legged life
Ever bite like shark niggas, got an appetite
for destruction, lusting for dough, it's disgusting
Disgraceful, end of disscusion, this tasteful
Like cyanide erase you, pull up, let me take two
Come all you faithful, Meth and Shyheim
Tommy Hilfiger, that I'm a Johnny 'field nigga
Till I die, S.I.N.Y. testify
Girlfriend sweating my game, killing my high

I'm a 100 proof, like Smirnoff blue label
I'm so wild, got housearrest bracelets on each ankle
I break you, something fatal and make New Jersey trade you
You don't got game, so niggas don't playa-hate you
Come back to Brooklyn, the ya G's gone
Chase you up, batted in dun, dun
Nike won't endorse you so you rock an And-1
I pull out the M-1 and hit you handsome
cuz you forcin it, you can hang it up like an ornament
End your actin career, put you back in street tournaments
Run for your life, like you doing suicides
When even use your scrub ass, Live '9-9

[Chorus 2X: Shyheim]
Am I my brother's keeper?
There's no need to ask
I ride for my brothers, give me the gun and the mask
We be in the bushes like The Down Low stash
Pop up like a warrant, let off on that ass

[Infamous Bluesteele]
Y'all could catch the player Inf' way beyond calm
Sharp and on bomb chron, rockin my Sean John
Copin the bomb chron from Sharon on the quan
Got me chinky-eyed like a Hong Kong don
Fire arm palm, cock back caution
Alarm for the chumps, boy what you think you gon' palm with my charms
Better pay attention to the harm in my palm and it's fully-loaded
If I said it, could he hold it?
but once he seen the gun I said, "son, look he bolted"
Son, look he noted, the Berrettas'll shever, but he was clever
He stopped screwing and he blew in his vendettas
His crew was in to leathers, Avirex and guns
Some of them was smart but I could say the rest was dumb
So I played the vest for dumb and saved the checks for dumb
cuz they hard-head niggas who graze and steadily come
to be leakin something, you could care for speakin
frontin bout shit they stick, instead of zip they lip
They was young niggas, you know the young dumb niggas
Who don't care how they get it as it come, nigga

*old school party music playing and fades*
Hey, hey...
Are you that little guy makin all that big noise?
*sounds of mad ass dog and man screaming*