Tytuł: Mighty Healthy

• Wykonawca: Ghostface Killah
• Wyświetleń: 509

[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 clusty, chillin' wit 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
  eati' 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
  
  [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 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 totalled 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