Lyrics
My God, so they are killers
I've heard lots of people say once a man's a killer
They just keep on killing and killing
They sort of develop a taste for blood
Yeah, that's right
They kill one man, or kill ten
It's all the same (yes)
After all, they can only hang you once
Both hands clusty, chillin' with my man Rusty
Low down, blew off the burner, kinda dusty
The world can't touch Ghost, purple tape, Rae co-host
Monty Hall expo, intellect, you read pro
Son's triflin' fuck, wildflower on the cycle and
Picked up the broom thought I was Michael-in'
West Brighton Pool, now I'm into Iron Duels
Turn nuns to Earths, Whoopi, she at Allah school
Inhale break beats of Hell a-alikes propel parallel
Duracell knot, you flashed a burnt cell
Snap out of Candyland, kids, the old rumor is
Blacks become immune and shit, we never did
Like eating dead birds, trust the pharmacy over herbs
Men marrying men, ill they got the urge, pulsar
Scissor hand wig vanished in the winter, living off land
You goddamn right, I fuck fans, king me
Check, checkmate, props like the micro chip founder
Neck to neck stock with Bill Gates now
When we hug these mics, we get busy (busy)
Come and have a good time with G-O-D (G-O-D)
Make you snap your fingers or wiggle (wiggle)
Scream, shout, laugh or just giggle (giggle)
Shake that body, party that body
Don't fuck with Ghost, you'll feel sorry
That's word, I'm not the herb
Understand what I'm saying, saying, saying?
Hit mics like Ted Koppel, rifle expert
Let off the Eiffel, burn a flag in your grass, spiteful
Ringleader set it off, rap Derek Jeter
Culprit, prince of the game, wish you could see us
We lay low, glitter wax full bangles
Priceless ropes, lay around the God, get tangled
Woolly hair, eyes fiery red, feet made of brass
12 men following me, it be the God staff
Move, every script's like Miramax
Smashed the big boy, totaled it, Wilshire and Fairfax
Sun beamin', wifey on the beach sipping Zima
Wu 'binos to Latinos, we love Selena
Overnight, God schedules, FedEx
Pretty silhouette, velvet nice, DNA scroll genetics
Too hot to handle, one thought from scrambling the mandolin
Hundred game Wilt Chamberlain, smack 'em, say when
He rollin' up, face wrinkled up, hands is on his nuts
Yo kid, stop fronting on the grounds 'fore you get touched
It's Canada Dry sess with Allah, son
We want rye, we want it so bad we might cry
For every blow, depends on breath control
So it's the first thing you must learn
Fortunately, it's easy
You'll soon learn
My God, so they are killers
Killing and killing
They sort of develop a taste for blood
My God, so they are killers
My God, my God, so they are killers
