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