[Intro: Sheek Louch]
Wu Block
Ayo Ghost I'm about to go in right here son
[Verse 1: Sheek]
Yo there's no place to hide, tints on the window
Three fifty-seven pointed out the ride, treat 'em like a dutch
Dump his insides, blood on the door, blood on the floor
They ready for the battle I'm prepared for the war
Money on stupid, soldiers on call
Follow you for real, chase niggas through the mall
Rolls on the table I'll show you how to ball
Don don I blow weed on the weave with no shirt on I got tricks up my sleeve
Suffocate flow make it hard to breathe, I don't want that bitch I'm just that hard to leave
Yea, you see the goons that I bring, D-Block chillin' with the wallaby king
My Staten Island niggas they gon' let that shit ring, my dudes locked up hold it down in the bing
Police think I'm carrying like every kind of drug, I just say what's up, no dap, no hug
I just keep it movin', I see they all fake but they don't really want beef they like Common Sense and Drake
[Interlude: Sheek]
Ayo yo Ghost check this out right, I just killed one of your classics
It's only right you kill one of mines, you got me son?
Let's go
[Verse 2: Ghostface Killah]
When Nas made one love I was on the bench still
Mask on, contemplating a kill with one glove
In deep thought, paper bag cover my o.e
Heard they got long nickels slangin' the four deep
Uh, Medina niggas, Gowanus and Park Slope
Mad heavy, cashmere low coats
Pumpin' at the joy spot, stepped to this fiend
Served him from Queen, he had a nose like Floyd Pops
Armed him with a trey deuce, tell him to knock twice
Tell 'em you want two, show 'em your nice bike
The door knob turned, somebody cracked it
Bernard walked in, I'm right behind him with the all black ratchet
Surprise bitches, welcome to Staten
The first nigga that flinched I blast him, the fiends laughing
Foot locker bags unwrapped raw, stacks on the table
The nigga I shot beginnin' to crawl, he in his boxers
Seen the ounce on the plate with oxys, baggin' up mad shake
Yo B, yo watch him, while I search the fridge, cabinets and the back room
Half a brick in the grits box and the vacuum
Drugs is what we all about, cash and it's all around
Tell them niggas to get on they face and pat 'em down
I got the goods let's be out son, slingin' of a nigga head
Word to everything they get out done, let's kill these niggas
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