Pistol Smoke

[Intro: Ghostface Killah]

Yo, yeah

[Verse 1: Ghostface Killah]

You  can get clapped in the deadly hall

Where  the killers skate off in the clean G Wagen, all gray

Chain swingin', the god-gods was tried for 'meanors

Gucci, last thing they seen hittin' the cement

The  fuck y'all standing around for?

Watch  my reels, I make scripts off strips like, "Hold on, strip"

I don't care what he say, how many guns he got

Just  ask your mans about my flicks

Movies, gruesome, bombs, we boofed it

Rikers Island, that phone got bodies on it, true shit

A click, two sticks, it'll cost you, baby

That's  two pin joints if I lost you, baby

Yeah, I'm back, we can go bar for bar

Tie hands together with the aux, go scar for scar

Go 'head and act up, injuries gon' add up

Walkin' out the ER like a mummy, all wrapped up

Come on board, shooters, we hirin'

Scarface bald head niggas, we admire them

Rumor has it a lot of frauds got flaws on 'em

See a lot of Madea in niggas, wrong drawers on 'em

[Chorus: Solomon Childs]

Many legs I broke, many necks I choked (Right)

Many legs I broke (Right), many necks I choked (Right)

Many legs I broke (Right), many necks I choked (Right)

And if provoked, I let the pistol smoke (Brr)

Many legs I broke, many necks I choked

Many legs I broke, many necks I choked

Many legs I broke, many necks I choked

And if provoked, I let the pistol smoke

[Verse 2: Ghostface Killah]

I held 'em up like a pair of crutches

Had 'em all in a jam like I ran with Smuckers

Cops, sirens, paparazzis over hot bodies

Headshots in the Maserati

Don't wrap that nigga, no Polo sheets

Keep it discrete, I told that nigga he'd be dead in a week

His bitch told me where he rest, where he keep his cheese

He got a stashbox in the wheel in both his V's

I got forty-seven cocaine connects out in Monaco

Top of the line, these coke chefs made the honor roll

And that's the reason I don't fuck with faggots

Twenty-one guns that go savage

Seventy nuns that tote smoke in the old baggage

Whatever I see, I grab it

You get the message like it's all in a tablet

You straight bitch like Tiff Haddish

Hustle grands like Tip Harris

The whole hood drop like a miscarriage

[Chorus: Solomon Childs]

Many legs I broke, many necks I choked (Right)

Many legs I broke (Right), many necks I choked (Right)

Many legs I broke (Right), many necks I choked (Right)

And if provoked, I let the pistol smoke (Brr)

Many legs I broke, many necks I choked

Many legs I broke, many necks I choked

Many legs I broke, many necks I choked

And if provoked, I let the pistol smoke