Therapy - Masta Killa, Method Man, Redman

The first fresh thoughts of the day are so clear

When I walk, in my head, there’s a voice that talks

In my ear I can hear so clear, you think I’m buggin', right?

I’m just contemplating the silent, holla for this

Out to the West Side my killer Cali gangstas ride and get they head right

Yo, son, I’m on the next flight in

Twist somethin' tight, I’m guaranteed to write a hit song before we reach

Throw the instrumental on and watch this word pattern of speech

Men form, military armed, ready to swarm, get your party on

Drinks on the house tonight, ladies lookin' right

Atmosphere nice and warm, we backstage like a hundred thieves strong

Ghost want the red light on before we get on

An hour’s too short to rock, we got a million songs

Oh yeah, this real nice right here Kill Kill

Oh yeah?

Oh yeah, I’m feelin' this one right here

Yeah

Okay

So it’s my turn to sit in the chair?

Indeed, my brother

Aight, let’s go (Haha)

Yo, I gotta be around this music, it’s therapeutic

Light my first blunt of the day to start the movement

I’m sittin' in the room with a view, there’s always room for improvement

So I grab my coat and go and prove it

Just me against the world, you can find me in the streets

She’ll spot me in the lobby, probably find me in the free

Cop a 'Rari, the lobby in the linin' of my seats

Tryna put me in a lineup 'til I wind up in the beast

That’s the belly, how dare they try to tell me when to eat

With a plate of food barely in my reach

My team shoot dice, we used to shoot skelly in the streets

Wear the same Pelle-Pelle's for a week

But now we livin' life

It’s such a good life I wish that I could live it twice

I’d probably make the same wiz my wife

It’s Wu-Tang Clan, always collect cheddar

Proper education, always correct errors

Killa house in the buildin'

You all ready, nigga?

Hey yo, peace to my brothers from

Yes sir, nigga

Good lookin', nigga

Yo, bananas, Redman so gorilla

Chi-town know I’m pimpin' the mic, nigga

One hit, and chicks follow me like Twitter

Crack when I talk, I like the mic stem up

The fiends hit it, chicks swing with it

I’ll box niggas in like Don King did it

Sixteens I write, it’s seems so vivid

My notebooks I’m lettin' eBay bid it

I get dough, bad pair for the sick flow

My weed more greener than Lou Ferrigno

My right-hand man hand on the pistol

I crack these squares up like Nabisco

Oh, look at me, I’m lightweight

But with the heart to peel back your white meat

Yo wifey want me to make her wifey

Hit it, make the bitch hyphy at high speed

Doc