Released on December 12, 2006

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[Intro: Ghostface Killah]

Oh shit, look at them, they running on foot

They picked the car up, they on some Flintstone shit

Oh shit

And them niggas stuck together on some Siamese shit... yo


[Verse 1: Ghostface Killah]

Yo, classic murders, slick gun material

Burnt up bodies that rot with no burial

Hammers that hardly work

Go to work like a slave on a hot day, with no water

Blow you for props in the cop's face, might get knocked up

Jakes that play hero, they can get popped up

Face fallin' off their cheekbone

Gotta take meat from their ass, to sew it back, I'm a beast, homes

It's ground beef in the streets, so we squeeze chrome

Like fresh fruit from a tree, so the heat's blown

Your momma missing, your boys are crying

Cut your balls out your nutsack, the chinks are buying

Shit bags is like gift bags, you get it for free

If you master fronting, classic cutting

You keep stunting, them gem star'll rip something

Look homey, it's the bloody sweepstakes

Glove club you down in the club, how you like that, sweet cakes?


[Verse 2: Trife Da God]

Yo, it was a minute after 12, when the tragedy struck

Niggas emptied on son and left 'em leaning right in Valerie's truck

The red Cherokee blood was pouring out his head heavily

The only motive for murder was wetter, either jealousy

They found him slumped over the wheel, horn blowing

Bullet holes showing, property stolen, motor still going

Driver’s side door wedged open, the window was broken

Glass fragments shredded his grill, his collar was soaking

He probably knew the killers 'cause they juksed him with ease

Cops comb the perimeter, thirsty, looking for leads

Knocking on doors, questioning tenants, the lieutenant

Was the first to arrive on the scene, he knew he was finished

DeWayne Roberts knew him in college, mid-twenties, stopped being brolic

V.A. driver's license in his wallet

The last call on his mobile phone was back to home

Sorry, Miss Amonia's son was found dead with two in his dome


[Verse 3: Cappadonna]

This be the bird's eye view of things, look how we doing things

We stick niggas up and we take their rings

Mission Impossible, Theodore Unit, we unstoppable

Spit razors out of our mouth and start chopping you

Bank robbers, blood jakes out with the obstacle

Ropes hanging down from the roof, my parachute

Soaking water, heat smoking

We scrape and we Pillage, man, wherever we broke in

Theodore pulverize boat rides and tours

Smashed 'em in the crib with their coke in their straws

Dudes step off the scene, black face and four-fours

The cream that we stack up, cake and whores


[Verse 4: Killa Sin]

Cash in abundance, the cats that I run with

Got gats at our motels and splats by the hundreds

I don't ask if I want it, my attitude is run it

I don't ask if I want it, my attitude is run it, yup

Mega ice neck, with some fish, with some fish dishes

Rakim gems, my mind shine is what my weight misses

Anything else is uncivilized

Send the kind of niggas other men despise, you can see the venom rise

My nine leaves them tenderized, I don't need my men to ride

I'm in the moshing squad, beside the car that's highly energized

Been advised, before, that fucking with I, is genocide

Many men have died, from playing games from what they feel inside

Brawl with it in me, put it on my enemy

Be warned, defending me like killing off a Kennedy

Y'all silly song emcees get sent on base

Type of nigga spit the Remy or laugh in your face

This dick in my waist is mastery, step out of place

Shatter that ass like glass and break fast like a neglige

Play with the biscuit, dick, don't even risk it

I snatch up my misses and dash on the interstate


[Produced by Metal Fingers]