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My God, so they are killers
I've heard lots of people say once a man's a killer
They just keep on killing and killing
They sort of develop a taste for blood
Yeah, that's right, they kill one man or kill ten
It's all the same after all, they can only hang you once
Both hands clusty, chillin' with my man Rusty low down
Blew off the burner kinda dusty
The world can't touch Ghost, purple tape Rae co-host
Monty Hall expo, intellect you red pro
Son triflin' fuck, wildflower on the cyclin'
Pick up the brew thought I was Michael an'
Mics are writin' pool, now, I'm into Iron Duals
Turn-ons the Earth's whoopee, she out of law school
In hale break beats of hell A-Alikes propel parallel
Duracell night, you flash a burnt cell
Snap out of CandyLand, kids the old rumor is
Blacks become immune to shit, we never did like
Eatin' dead birds chose the pharmacy over herbs
Men marryin' men, ill they got the herbs pulsar
Scissor hand wig vanished in the winter
Livin' off land you god damn right, I fuck, fans king me
Check, checkmate props like the micro chip founder
Neck to neck stocks with Bill Gates now
When we hug these mics we get busy
Come and have a good time with G O D
Make you snap your fingers or wiggle
Scream, shout, laugh and just giggle
Shake that body, party that body
Don't fuck with Ghost ,you'll feel sorry
That's word, I'm not the herb
Understand what I'm sayin', sayin', sayin'
Hit mics like Ted Koppel, rifle expert
Let off the Eiffel, burn a flag in the grass it's spiteful
Ringleader set it off, rap Derek Jeter
Culprit, prince of the game, wish you could see us
We lay low glitter wax full bangles
Priceless rolls, lay around the God, get tangled
Woolly hair, eyes firey red, feet made of brass
Twelve men, following me, it be the God staff
Move, every script's like Miramax
Smash the big boy totaled it, will shot fear effects
Son beamin' wifee on the beach, sippin' Zima
Wu 'binos to latinos, we bust Selena
Over night, God schedules, fed ex
Pretty soloette velvet nice DNA scroll genetics
Too hot to handle one thought scramblin' the mandolin
Hundred game Wilt Chamberlain, smack 'em, say when
He rollin' up, face wrinkled up, hands is on his nuts
Yo, kid stop frontin' on the ground before you get touched
It's Canada Dry sess, obsessed with Allah's sun
We want rye, we want it so bad we might cry
What we do, depends on breath control
So it's the first thing you must learn
Fortunately it's easy, you'll soon learn
My God so they are killers
Killing and killing, they sort of develop a taste for blood
My God so they are killers
My God, my God so they are killers
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