[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 they cheekbone, gotta take meat
From they 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 ya 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 twelve, 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 killas, 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
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 they cheekbone, gotta take meat
From they 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 ya 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 twelve, 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 killas, 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
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