About This Track
"Pistol Smoke (feat. Solomon Childs)" is a track by Ghostface Killah, from the album Ghostface Killahs, released 12th September 2019. The track is 3:07 long. It's filed under Hip-Hop/Rap. Full lyrics are available below.
About the Artist
Lyrics
Yo, yeah You can get clapped in the deadly hall Where the killers skate off in a clean G Wagon, all gray Chain swingin', the god-gods was tried for 'meanors Gucci, last thing they seen hittin' the cement The fuck ya'll standing around for? Watch my reel, 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 bars, we boofed it Rikers Island, that phone got bodies on it, true shit A clicks, 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 Tied hands together with the aux, go scar for scar Go 'head and act up, injuries gone add up Walkin' out the ER like a mummy, all wrapped up Come on board, shooters we hiring Scarface bald head niggas, we admire them Rumor has it alot of frauds got flaws on 'em See a lot of Madea in niggas, wrong drawers on 'em Many legs I broke, many necks I choked (Right) Many legs I broke, many necks I choked (Right) Many legs I broke, 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 I held 'em up like a pair of crutches Had 'em all in a jam like I ran with Smuckers Cops, sirens, paparazzi over hot bodies Headshots in the Maserati Don't wrap that nigga, no Polo sheets Keep it discreet, 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 Vs I got 47 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 21 guns that go savage 70 nuns that tote smoke in the old baggage Whatever I see, I grab it But you get the message like it's all on a tablet You straight bitch like Tiff Haddish Hustle grands like Tip Harris The whole hood drop like a miscarriage Many legs I broke, many necks I choked (Right) Many legs I broke, many necks I choked (Right) Many legs I broke, 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
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