Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Beat The Clock , by - Ghostface Killah. Release date: 19.04.2004
Song language: English
Beat The Clock |
| Aiyo, Ghost, what’s up nigga? |
| This «Supreme» talkin' to you and shit |
| You caught me all the way in Staten Island to see you |
| Beat the two minute and thirty seven second clock |
| Suprise: time started already, muthafucka |
| Say that shit, nigga |
| I’mma say it, don’t get mad, y’all, I throw my darts sideways |
| Shoot 'em up, bang, bang, through me baby |
| Lovely lady, fuck the spades, drive the kid crazy |
| Before I go to bed, now I lay me |
| People be talkin', I feed dolphins |
| My defense’ll fly the coop off your mean office |
| My skills is a fortune, robbin' leech out a suite auction |
| Teachin foreign fifth graders, fuck what they say |
| Cuz we against the abortions, and we |
| Lay low-oh-oh, silent those clowin' foes |
| Got them clothes for his new funeral |
| We them Fat Albert, spot runnin' '86 crack viles and pictures |
| Lookin' all suspicous, I’m out. |
| Aiyo, hold up! |
| What the fuck you stop for? |
| (I got somethin' in my--) Nah, you can’t be stoppin', g |
| What the fuck you ain’t got -- aiyo, you buggin' and shit |
| Son, you gotta hurry the fuck up |
| Time is runnin' nigga, come! |
| What the fuck? |
| I work magic out of liquor store |
| Give me a dollar and I turn that bitch into five |
| And all I need is one more, to get things started |
| Get retarded, a one-two -- I’mma fix these artists |
| Take 'em one by one, tie 'em up, line 'em up |
| Treat 'em like a cigar, fire them niggas up |
| They be up in the club, six/three tree’d up |
| With them young 'keds with their gear all beat up |
| This is how I’mma kill 'em with four lines left |
| Hold your breath, say my name five times it’s take’s practice, yo |
| Decap' him with sayin' my name, it’s like matches, yo |
| It’s time to fuck up on account in a house, or blow |
| Na-na-na-na-na, nah, nah, fuck that four-line shit |
| You cheatin' and shit, I ain’t come here for all that |
| (I'm tired, though lord, what the fuck) |
| What you mean you tired and shit, g? |
| You suppose to be that nigga, nigga then show me |
| If you that nigga! |
| Then show me, nigga! |
| I hold a mic like I’m Gale Sayers |
| Hoppin' over chairs like O.J., my rushin' yards |
| Them pen, how the meter spray |
| Happy wife-beater day, don’t touch my, cheeba hay |
| Get off my D-I, then go C the K’s (case) |
| 'Scuse me Mr. D.J., please play «Fish» |
| Or that Cherchez LaMe, ten four, may day-may day |
| Callin' all cars, callin' all cars |
| We have an APB on Starks and Trife the God |
| We left the jewelry store, feelin' like we left the morgue |
| We was frozen, and I brought an iced out Trojan |
| That’s for pussies whose golden, who got Toney wide open |
| I put my ring up to my man’s waves and seen an ocean |
| Move like a wolf, kid, in sheep’s clothing |
| Snatch the money bag off the milk truck and kept boating |
| I be potent like ibuprofen, I be coastin' |
| With two shotties on me, in your grimiest lobby smokin' |
| This muthafucka made the clock! |
| Mutha-- where the fuck? |
| Yo, you be cheatin', mutha-, you be cheatin' |
| That’s that Staten Island, bullshit |
| Theodore… you know you might be a Ghost |
| But you ain’t Houdini, muthafucka! |