[Intro: Ghostface Killah]

Oh, yeah, motherfucker! It's real!

Y'all niggas hold your guns!

Throw your guns down! Put 'em down!

[Verse: Ghostface Killah]

Yo, yo, we in the fields with heat

You fake niggas eat Kid Meals to me, we street referees

We rock jean jackets, thick shirts over turtlenecks

Certified doctors in hoods that still oil TECs

But wait, roll cameras, baby face, money blowin' like Beech-Nut

Call off the mutts, it's me again

Ghost — your host this evenin'

("Ladies and gents, I'd like to thank you all for coming out tonight!")

Tux tight, all sharp, light up a bark, let's mingle

Fetch me a Remy Martin on Diamonds

Flare-leg Gucci joints I never wore

I might give 'em to my brother-in-law

Fitzpatrick — rich bastard worth more than Egyptian marrows

Borrow the God jewels, Gucci goggles

That's how the God do

Motown 25 — my aura's like Smokey's voice; little moist but choice

We guzzle Dom's, smoke with scratchy throats

Live on the edge with bracelets, shades and classy coats

Jumble in the club, we play Columbo

Frosty the Snowman, frozen in the Milky Way

Ice on the floor, El-Producto in the sleeve, in the seam of his mink

He said he don't drink, think before he talked

He walked like he 'nored the fellow champ room down in Vegas

Vendin' machines that shoot Alizé, compliments of E&J

[Outro: 60 Second Assassin & Ghostface Killah]

The streets is rough out here

The crack game came and had its years

What is a man to do? (Brother-man... stay true, stay true)

The streets is rough out here

The crack game came and had its years

What is a man to do? (Brother-man... stay true, stay true)