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-forty, that's mine   Y'all need to step the fuck off   Y'all niggaz ain't crazy for real      Chorus: genius      Yo, the fiends ain't comin 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.. yo      Fiends ain't comin 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 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 his crime and drug wars      Chorus:      Fiends ain't comin 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 fuckin up   I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload   Product must be sold, to you