[Part I: Sniper Elite]
[Intro: Steve Groves, Steve Kipner, David Ossman, DOOM & Joeski Love]
"My family tree— my family tree—
Is my history— is my history"
"Uh, uh!"
"My family tree— my family tree—"
"What's up? He-hey, baby!" (Yeah)
"Is my history"
"Have mercy, have mercy, you bet your life, baby
That's right, I'm down here with the world's most popular drinking areas, you understand?"
(What— what-what— what)
"The South Pole Lounge. Yes, yes! Where everything is nice and they do it twice"
(Wha—what)
"And everybody here's waitin' for the million-dollar jackpot number to come up, man!"
(Yeah— yeah)
"And you know, there's a lot of sincere confusion about just what the doctor said!"
[Verse 1: DOOM & David Ossman]
To the head
The new June Moon shootin' on a Blue Lagoon
Shoo, as DOOM zooms in a Platoon
("Too much, too soon!") Zing! Sniper elite
Swipe 'em off his feet on this type of heat beat
Stranger on a solo misflow dolo
Paid, played the position by the poles glow
Heard it on the TV promo
Swear it ain't me in the P.E. Logo
Remote control in his overcoat Polo
Go for broke, get the dough, float on the go-go (Heh)
Hopes and praise out of phase with the straight
Through the middle crews hate the new riddle, too
Late too little, Operation Doomsday complete
On Jumpstreet dump the heat
[Interlude: David Ossman]
"Six to five of the working people I talk to wanna know
Who's gonna take the responsibility, Bingle?"
[Verse 2: DOOM]
Vil, one shot—one kill
Spotted him, got his off the top, done deal
Spill your guts, they say they said the Don dead good
You could ask the dread in your hood or John Ed Wood
The truth is in the verse not on the bottle bottom
Black devils is the worst, first you gotta spot 'em
Ain't never get stuck on their boats
And don't give a fuck if he gettin' their votes
At most he may exchange pleasantries
Really don't go for the sex change energies
Or Ben & Jerry's berries
Friends with make pretend fairies who take men's cherries
Just don't boycott his shit
The fake first amendment foils the plot, mischievous midget
[Part II: Murder Goons]
[Intro: Ghostface Killah]
Yeah, testing one-two, one-two
Testing, one-two, yeah
One-two
[Verse 1: Ghostface Killah]
I've lived the life of Sonny Carson
Favorite slacks was the baby blue knitted sharkskins
Custom made like the ace of spade
Switching robes when I leave the forum in the sleeve is a classic date
Russian cut (Uh), mustard handle (Yeah), 'bout the same size
Of little tight Shawn with his Nikes on, still blamp you
Vamp you, throwing homo's out they sandals
Leave your brain all chunky like I'm advertising soup from Campbell's
Bowl legged old man give me props
All I do is buy 'em a bottle, hit 'em off like, "Peace, pops!"
Fishscale got the streets hot
All you gotta do is go on the road with Dipset, Rae and D-Block
And that's how we take New York back (Yeah)
Flex and the Pitbulls, Heavy Hitters, Kay Slay, Absolut
Camillo, Lantern, load the wax up, cock and shoot
Cypha Sounds, DJ Clue, Envy, next, Staten be the scoop
[Chorus: Ghostface Killah]
We them brick, flippin' niggas with cash rule, relax, duke
Doctor bills, funerals, that's what cash do (Blah)
Come around here, fronting, we'll splash you
Staten Island murder goons, cousin, we'll scratch you (Yo)
[Verse 2: Ghostface Killah]
Heard some of ya'll singing like Lou Rawls
Try to fuck me—you gon' suffer from blue balls
Tone's a karate champ, shottie champ
You period niggas be spotting with bad cramps
Intestines looking like chitlings
All we need is hot sauce, my pork eaters, go and get rid of 'em
Kites and death threats, ya'll keep sending 'em
For every dart you throw, my last one's killing 'em
Like cancer patients, in the process, losing they hair
You'll be fighting for life, scratching and gagging
Panicking, gasping for air
Suffocating from no-wind syndrome like somebody cut the neck of a deer
It's algebra in the third
Alfa Alfa with the gun to the rascal, Jessica Alba is one of my birds
Plus AlcaSeltzer's blowing up bursts
Out to melt you brain cells like Alien herb
[Chorus: Ghostface Killah]
We them brick, flippin' niggas with cash rule (Ooh), relax, duke
Doctor bills, funerals, that's what cash do (Blah-blah)
Come around here, fronting, we'll splash you
Staten Island murder goons, cousin, we'll scratch you
[Verse 3: Ghostface Killah]
Get lost in my hood, it's like you lost in El Mira (Mira)
You might get poked up, smoked up, throat cut
Rocking them little fly chains, get yoked up
Ya'll Boar's Head niggas, ya'll just cold cuts
Victims of night time street horror, going home with casualties
The twelve gauge blew a path in your knee
That's what happens in war
When the high heaters don't eat we creep
Our stomach growls loud so we don't sleep, tote heat, won't speak
(We them) We them grill niggas, we smoke beef
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