Stay True Ghostface Killah (Ft. 60 Second Assassin)

[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 techs
But wait, roll cameras, babyface, 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 comin 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 twenty-five
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