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GHOSTFACE KILLAH lyrics : "Smith Brothers"

(feat. Trife)

[Intro: Ghostface Killah]

Uh huh, ready bags, ready bags
This is that mother$#[email protected]' ^!$$%
Yeah, uh, bulletproof mutha$#[email protected]' gooses outdoors

For all the streets, all the dusts in the streets
Crusty projects and all that, the radiators is bulletproof
Yo, yo, come on, ah yo yo

[Ghostface Killah]
What up cousin, this is most high wizardry

Gots to watch ^!$$%z, so I stay on my grizzly (uh)
These young boys comin' at me (yeah)
Lookin' at these [email protected]$)gots, like yeah, you get amped off of Pepsi

Damn, what kind of cards you delt
Does your elevator go up? (Nope) You ain't rap too tight
Right, you can tell me, G-H to O-S-T

Two hundred Bees'll get you killed by [email protected]%!e head Skeet
This is murder, you can get it, if my fam don't eat
And, we slam ^!$$%z, like we Lil' Malik

We want that Powerball money, Easter bunnies, Wool-light money
Hey dunny, we rock a half of mill and look bummy
And bounce to the projects, pop Becks, cop Tec's

Top wrecks, execs got next, what the heck
Arm fed, you'se dead, that's said, no more wet
The cameras is rollin', (*##$, quiet on the set

[Chorus: Ghostface Killah]
You can never front on, jump or you get lumped on

Burners in your face, don't you get nervous on me
We got so many gats, and them big Mac's
Somebody get the boy, I get the wilin' on black

Tell 'em, we will, we will, rock you, pop you
We will, we still, got you, got you

Aiyo aiyo, it ain't a game
This kid is serious about his change

Ya'll a bunch of wacko jacko's, amped off your names
Call me Sugar Ray, the way I dance on you lames
My right hand'll sting you and ding you, leave stamps on your brain

I got, out of state of ^!$$%z that'll kill for beers
Cut you, easy to pop like balloons filled with air
I dare ya'll [email protected]$)got $$#es, punch ^!$$%z with glasses

Back in my third grade classes, squeezin' $$#es
My ^!$$%z is never over, understand
I'm a 2Pac, this is the realest %#@! I ever wrote

But it's soft, lead the [email protected]%!e, matchin' my kicks
So make sure, you get my sneakers when you snappin' that flick
And I advise you to carry that Bible for survival

Surprise you, return like Jesus, without the costume
Come on young'n, you dumbin'
I've been doin' this %#@! since King Culing, cookin' grams in the oven


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