[Intro: Method Man]
    Aiyyo Shorty, yo that's my word
  Oh, y'all smellin y'all piss now y'all think y'all gold
  Yo anybody get caught playin
  Over here, I'm returnin em that's my word that they be blasted
  Anything from two-twenty to one-fourty, that's mine
  Y'all niggaz step the fuck off
  Y'all niggaz ain't crazy for real
    [Chorus: Genius]
    Yo, the fiends ain't coming fast enough
  There is no cut that's pure enough
  I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload
  Product must be sold to YOU
    [Verse One: Genius]
    I'm deep down in the back streets - in the heart of Medina
  About to set off something more deep than a misdemeanor
  Under the subway, waiting for the train to make noise
  So I can blast a nigga and his boys - for what?
  He pushed up on the block and made the dope sales drop
  Like the crashin of Dow Jones stock
  I had to connect to cross seals, to catch more mil's
  Than ho-bitches got birth control pills
  I'm in the park, settin up a deal over blunt fire
  Bum niggaz sleepin on the bench, they had em wired
  Peeped my convo, the address of my condo
  And how I changed a nigga name to John Doe
  And while we set up camp, we got Vamp
  Put the stake through his heart, I ripped his fucking fangs apart
  Snake got smoked on the set like Brandon Lee
  Blown out the frame, like Pan Am flight 103
  He got swung on, his lungs was torn, the
  kingpin just castled with his rook and lost a pawn
  A regular on the block, and played look-out
  For playing predator with a glock, he should have took out
    [Chorus:]
    No neighborhood is rough enough
  There is no clip that's full enough
  I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload
  Product must be sold to YOU
    The fiends ain't coming fast enough
  There is no cut that's pure enough
  I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload,
  Product must be sold to YOU
    [Verse Two: Genius]
    It's mandatory that
  I supply all my troops with mega firearms
  Big apes, and spread em out like crops on a farm
  to get CREAM, sometimes they repaint the scene
  Like the last episode on gates and other niggaz
  plant bombs til the smoke from the blast becomes thick
  and flows through all they knew, he's gun sick
  His glock clicks, like high-heeled shoes on parquay floors
  Mad sick, stand on hills and invade wars
  Filthy foul, shoveling dirt, he's out to hurt
  For instance, chop off hands, attack worth
  His idols would lock down airports and next extort
  some import, catchin ten percent of what the fiends snort
  Up in the ski resorts, up in hills
  They move keys and had skis making drops on snowmobiles
  The plan was to expand, catch seven figures, release triggers
  And live large and bigger than my nigga
  Who promised his moms a mansion with mad rooms
  She died, and he still put a hundred grand in her tomb
  Open wounds, he hid behind closed doors
  And still organized crime and drug wars
    [Chorus:]
    The fiends ain't coming fast enough
  There is no cut that's full enough
  I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload
  Product must be sold to YOU
    No neighborhood is rough enough
  There is no clips that's full enough
  I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload
  Product must be sold to YOU
    The peers that come is tight enough
  There is no niggaz that's fucking up
  I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload
  Product must be sold... to YOU