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Ghostface Killah f Trife - Smith Brothers *

на свой мобильный!
Отправь SMS с текстом 55788-106-6189 на номер 5537.

Предложение действительно для Российских операторов.

* not to be confused with "Smith Bros." which appears on Raekwon`s
"The Lex Diamond Story" although they share the same beat

[Intro: Ghostface Killah]
Uh huh, ready bags, ready bags
This is that motherfuckin` nigga
Yeah, uh, bulletproof muthafuckin` 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 niggaz, so I stay on my grizzly (uh)
These young boys comin` at me (yeah)
Lookin` at these faggots, 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 coke head Skeet
This is murder, you can get it, if my fam don`t eat
And, we slam niggaz, 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`, bitch, 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

[Trife]
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 niggaz that`ll kill for beers
Cut you, easy to pop like balloons filled with air
I dare ya`ll faggot asses, punch niggaz with glasses
Back in my third grade classes, squeezin` asses
My niggaz is never over, understand
I`m a 2Pac, this is the realest shit I ever wrote
But it`s soft, lead the coke, 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 shit since King Culing, cookin` grams in the oven

[Chorus]

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