Stella

[Verse 1: Ghostface Killah]

Stay dip, cute bitch out in Delaware, moving our bricks

So hard, stupid big stones from Miss Stella ear

She just turn 35, we in the spot on Martin Luther King Drive

Whole team getting high, on phones

We learned different codes of pig Latin

So the jakes don’t follow our trail with sick patterns

And the crib is jig, Jennifer convertible love seat

That’s worth forty G’s from Madrid

In Spain, sipping cherry Cosmo’s and things

Stella, finish the glass, showing niggas her rings

I said bitch, I ain’t impressed with that

Why the fuck is every briefcase short by at least ten stacks

We had a mil' in each bag, there’s eighty grand missing

You pop up with a new Jag', with a bad system

I done sent your ass to Hawaii and Waikiki

When your man needed bail, you’ll come see me

Rob me? That’s how we do? You pretty slick muthafucka

You must think I’m a sucker

Matter fact, you gon' suck this dick, how bout that for a change

Let me see what’s really on your brain

She said ‘Starkey, you violating me, stop it'

I saved up for this shit, you playing me like a hostage

Out of all people, I wheeled you around, when you got shot

Be the closest one too you, and may I rot

In hell, yo Starks, chill, I don’t think she that stupid

Since '90, '95, she came through, kid

Two million in six weeks, cover six space

Just to think of those towns alone, we brought a big steak

[Verse 2: Sheek Louch]

But it still don’t change the job

Aiyo, Tone, who this silly bitch trynna rob

Niggas been getting money, since pushing a Saeb

In the spot writing rhymes, never heard of a blog

Is it that coincidental? That the same rental

Be out in Virginia and DC, before she come see me

I’m ready, put this hammer in her face in 3D

I know that’s your home girl, but fuck it, on GP

And I don’t like her brother, either, he probably put her up to it

Give me the word and I go empty his fluid

Shady? I been bagging up since 1980

Me and Ghost been tight, since Fred met Grady, lady

So what you telling me? My account is off?

Oh you must really motherfucking think we that damn soft

[Verse 3: Method Man]

Hold on, yo, Sheek, what you gon' do? Cut her whole hand off?

Put a pillow over her face, and let the four bang off?

Or we can get the gat taping so the ho can’t talk

Before we get the whole story cut this whole thing short

I don’t think that’s wise at all, whatever honey do with her money, dog

That’s not my problem, why is it yours?

Wu-Block, you riding for mine, I’m riding for yours

That’s the motto if you talking bout homicide, my lord

It’s survival, homey, you ain’t never lied, my lord

But the Pretty Toney baby ain’t never lied before

That’s a hundred lucci, word to Bully, I smoke too many loosies

I know her history, if something fishy, must be the coochie

It ain’t no mystery, your finger itchy, if she a groupie

Once you go up, once you go down, let’s keep it Gucci

You take her head, I take all the jewelry from all these moolies

Get all your goonies, and we can meet up for Call of Duty

Ain’t nothing funny like Paul Mooney, this fatal beauty

Got some explaining to do, hold up, I thought you knew me

Better than that, we know the cheddar was tapped

You getting bread in the trap, why get in bed with them rats

My son is missing some racks, and Louch is fitting to snap

She need to come up with answers, instead of fixing her mack

Makeup, just give the facts, straight up, and just the facts

If you did it, we gon' bury you with it, and that’s that