INTRO: 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 (yes). After all (indecipherable)
VERSE 1: Both hands clutchy chillin' wit my man rusty low down Blew off the burner kinda dusty The world can't touch Ghost purple tank Rae co-host Mafia whore 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 do's Turn-ons the earth's whoopee, she got a love screw In hale break beats of hell aerolight propel parallel Doris sell night, you flashin' burnt cells Snap in the candy land kids the old rumor is Blacks become immune to shit, we never did like Eatin' dead birds shut the pharmacy over herbs Men maryin' men, ill they got the herbs pulsar Scissor hand wig vanished in the winter Livin' off land you god damn right I fuck fans Camay Check checkmate prize like the cycle champ rounder Snake the next stock with Bill Gates now
CHORUS: 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' (echo)
VERSE 2: Hit mics like Ted Coppo, 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 clear the wax phone bangers Priceless roll, lay around the God get tangled Woolly hair, eyes firey red, feet made of bread Twelve men, following me, it be the God staff Move, every script's like Miramax Smash the big boy totalled it, will shot fear effects Son beamin' wifee on the beach, sippin' Zima Wu binos, to latinos, we bust a leaner Over night, God schedules, fed ex Pretty soloette velvet nice DNA scroll genetics Too hot, to handle one thought scramblin' demandlin' 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 His counter in drive sex, wit a Narc son we movin' ri' (right) 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
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