Album: Supreme Clientele Year: 2000 Track: 6 Track Produced By: Hassan Samples: "Cool Breeze" by Solomon Burke
Lyrics: [Ghostface] Uh-huh, uh-huh, motherfucker, uh-huh Yeah, I see that, I see that All y'all fake motherfuckers up in the joint, huh? Stealin my light, huh? Watch me, duke, watch me
Yo, check these up top murderous Snowy in the bezzle as the cloud merges F.B.I. try and want word with this Kid who punked out bust a shot uip in the becon Catch me in the corner not speakin Crushed out heavenly, U.G. rock the sweet daddy long fox minks Chicken and brocolli, Wally's look stinky With his man straight from Raleigh Durham, he recognized Kojak I slapped him five, Masta Killa cracked his tiny form E'rybody break bread, huddle around Guzzle that, I'm about to throw a hand in your bag Since the face been revealed, game got real Radio been gassin niggaz, my imposters scream they ill I'm the inventor, '86 rhymin at the center Debut '93 LP told you to Enter Punk faggot niggaz stealin my light Crawl up in the bed with grandma, beneath the La-Z-Boy where ya hid ya knife Ghost is back, stretch Cadillacs, fruit cocktails Hit the shells at Paul's Pastry Rack Walk with me like Darthy tried to judge these plush degrees, said the cow, wrap the fees Gettin waxed all through the drive-thru Take the stand, throw my hand all on the Bible and tell lies too, I'm the ultimate splash the Wolverine Razor Sharp ring, dolomite student in role holdin it
[Chorus: Ghostface] Aiyyo, this rappin's like Ziti, facin me real TV Crash at high-speeds, strawberry, kiwi As we approach, yo herb, the Gods bail These Staten Island ferryboat cats bail Fresh cellies, 50 thief up in the city We banned for life, Apollo kids live to spit the real
[Ghostface] A pair of bright phat yellow Air Max Hit the racks, stack 'em up Son, $20 off no tax Street merchant tucked in the cloud, stay splurgin Rock a eagle head, 6-inch height was the bird Monday night Dallas verse Jets, dudes slid in with one hand Two culture-ciphers, one bag of wet Heavy rain fucked my kicks up Wasn't lookin, splashed in the puddle Bitch laughin, first thought was beat the bitch up Mossied off gracefully, New York's most wanted tee-ball hawk Seen the yellow brick road, lust of pastries Same Ghostface, holy in the mind Last scene: Manhatten Chase We drew the six-eight digit in the briefcase Rawness, title is Hell-bound Quick to reload around faces, surround look astound
[Raekwon] We split a fair one, poker nose money Gin rummy with glare, spot the lame, bit his ear Yo, you taste a tea-spoon, 300 goons, stash baloons Locked in lab rooms, hit with glock, stashed in Grant's Tomb Clocked him like a patient, his stock's full, hustle invasion Knowin now, we cocked a block off, the chain tri-color Freezin in valor, ice-sicle galore Gas station light gleamin on the wall Cop WiseGuy jams, James Bond vans Niggaz flipped Timbs, rock boats under water, watch clams pose at the stand-off, mad timid hopin that the gun fall, guess him like lottery balls, yo
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