Who's Got Bars

Who’s Got Bars? Meth VS Red

This should be s good debate, who’s got better bars, Meth or Red?

Method Man and Redman. Red & Mef, Mef & Red, Mr. Mef and Funk Doc or Funk Doc and Johnny Blaze. They may be some people’s favorite hip-hop duo. Known for their sharply hilarious contributions to albums like 1999’s Blackout!, they’ve also appeared in deodorant commercials, the stoner cult classic How High, and a short-lived Fox sitcom, Method and Red — tagline: “Puttin’ the urban in suburban.” They are like the same people. Both have the same accent, slang, style, mannerisms, culture etc. They both just have that same old school east coast gritty New York style. But…

Red has the higher voice, more unkempt appearance, and reckless rapping style, while the manicured Meth possesses nearly perfect cadence. But, do you agree with that? Am I Wrong?

“Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya
Enter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet
Rabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic
Rollin blunts an all day habit
I get it on like Smif’n’Wes
Punks take a sip and test
Who split your vest
The funk phenomenon
I’m bombin you like Lebanon
Blow canals of Panama
Just off stamina
Styles not to be fucked with, or played with
Fuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches
Hittin switches, Twistin wigs with
Fat radical mathematical type scriptures
I dig up in your planets like Diga,
Boo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens
Fuck the marines, I got machines
To light the spliff, and read Mad magazine
I fly more heads than Continental
Wreck ya 5 times like US AIR off an instrumental
Look I’m not a half way crook with bad looks
But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks
I breaks em up proppa
Ask Biggie Smalls ‘Who Shot Ya’
Funk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg
Look, I got the tools like Rickle
To make your mind tickle
For the nine nickel”

“And I’m the street-talkin.. dog-walkin..
Approach me with extreme caution — oh now you forcin
My +Hand+ to +Rock Yo’ Cradle+ often, I’m hot-scorchin
But Stone Cold like Steve Austin
If you smell what Tical cookin
Ain’t tryin to see central bookin
So tell ya goon stop lookin
‘Know What You Did Last Summer,’ so I started hookin
You past shooken off an open can of ass-whoopin
Ain’t no tomorrow’s in the Method’s “Little Shop of Horrors”
Go ask your father who the father from the hill to harbor
You know tha saga, marijuana blunts and Goldschlager
With deadly medley, y’all ain’t ready for Shakwon and Reggie
Don’t even bother, the radio for back-up – alright then
Your man got slapped up, extorted for his ice an’
Street life is triflin ‘Body over here!!’
Don’t make me pull a Tyson and bite a nigga ear
Precise an’, slicin jugulars, the cut-throat
Ruggeder, predator, Viking, et cetera
People’s Champ, niggas be takin on competitors
Reachin for the microphone, relax and light a bone
Straight from the catacomb, the +Children of the Corn+
That don’t got a +CLUE+.. prepare for ‘Desert Storm'”

So who’s got the better bars? Also, who’s got the better solo discography?

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