| Listen, man, it’s going on 2007, g
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| I wanna wish ya’ll muthafuckas a happy New Year
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| (New Year, let’s give it up) How your 2006 was son?
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| (Go and get up, get up, ya’ll niggas is crazy
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| Ya’ll know how I get, my 2006 off, nigga I broke two of my toes, nigga
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| It’s going down nigga, that’s what’s up, ya’ll niggas is crazy)
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| That’s why you came to the show with, um, peanut butter on your toes, that day
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| (Nigga, why you gotta bring everything up? Man, everybody here enjoying)
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| Nah, son, because your shit’s --- (crazy, a happy New Year
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| This muthfucka) Nah, boy, yo (no, man…) But your shit was looking mad timid
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| That was the funniest shit in the book, that day (Find out who…)
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| That’s your toes right there! |
| (Who the fuck said I broke 'em)
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| Yo, how you put them little baby cast on there? |
| (Just a little punk ass nigga
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| man)
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| How you put them in the baby cast like that, though, son?
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| Come on, son, that’s what I was, that shit, yo
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| Let me tell you something, I ain’t gon' front, yo
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| I love you and all that, son (then say that!)
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| You my first cousin, (then say that, Ghost, say that)
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| You my first cousin, though, but come on, man
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| You know how it is, son, I ain’t seen you in years though
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| (You know how I get down) How you had peanut butter on your toes though, son?
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| (Cuz the nigga asked for it, man, shit I fucked a nigga up, man)
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| Yo, it’s New Year’s, yo (get back to me, muthafucka)
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| Yo, it’s New Year’s son (fuck ya’ll niggas, this ain’t no
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| Yo, Ghostface, my gold is fifty hundred, I want my money)
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| NINE! |
| EIGHT! |
| SEVEN! |
| SIX! |
| FIVE! |
| FOUR! |
| THREE! |
| TWO! |
| ONE!
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| I love you my nigga, Happy New Year’s!
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| Fuck that, let’s get this paper!
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| Yo, yo I was sitting at the table thinking
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| How the hell do I murder these M.C.'s, sting 'em like bees
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| My attitude’s that of Hannibal, not compatible
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| Why I would damage you, fuck, if I drink, then ran with you
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| Ya’ll chose to war, so called rich niggas wanna verse the poor
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| I’ll rob you first, then go to your earth, it’s not gon' hurt
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| If you try calling the cops, it’s not gon' work
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| All you gotta do is lay in the dirt, we dug a hole
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| And my guns weight more, yo, then Gerald Levert
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| With more blubber than a Ruben Studdard, I grease the pan
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| With rhymes, and ya’ll can’t believe it’s not butter
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| I told ya’ll to chill, stretch all out like franks on the grill
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| With a classic deal, I’m like a farmer when I’m playing the field
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| Just painting my seeds, in 20−06, it’s time to build
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| «Ghost is back…» — sample 4X
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| Yo, I cooked up the beef, seasoned up the meat
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| Fried 'em, tried 'em, took it out the grease
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| Ghost came to steal the show, since you loving your broad
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| I’mma lay back and reveal your ho
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| She a brain therapist, chick you can’t kiss
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| Opened up her legs, like «ooh, I smell fish»
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| Yeast infection, queen, she love dick
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| Shivlered up tits, she’ll bang the whole Knicks
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| Now how can I salute you, kid, I’m planning to do you
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| Crucial, blow rugers at who you with
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| We bump heads while we out in the street, it’s all good
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| My trigger fingers’ll matter, kick the back of your feet
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| And your red monkey jeans, is looking like a scene from Baghdad
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| That’s bad, flags red, dirt beds
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| Ya’ll niggas is eating, crystal meth' heads
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| We pissed out, wrist out, with the best threads
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| Knockin' niggas off, knockin' niggas out
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| Fucking up rappers is what I’m about
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| I’m holding Staten Island down, ya’ll cats must be dead
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| Keep fronting and lose your head
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| «Ghost is back…» — sample 4X
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| You can decide on who’s liver
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| Toney Knight Rider, wisdoms love my saliva
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| Slobbin' 'em down, hoggin' the mound
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| Pitchin' 'em eightballs, robbing the town
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| Don’t let your gangsta, get you murked up
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| Faggot ass homeys done got you worked up
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| Rappers can’t come around, ya’ll wide rap is dead
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| Freeze, nigga, come off the bread
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| Whole horizon, hit 'em with toast, a rap arising
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| Ringing the boys bell like Verizon
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| Eyes, looking suprised, that the four-five
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| Yo Ghost, don’t even do it, I got some more pie
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| Word up, aiyo I’d like to give a mean shout out to Staten Island
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| Holding the boy down, ya’ll know what it do
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| Theodore Unit, Big Trife, Wigs, Du-Lilz
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| Yo Supa! |
| Ya’ll know what it is, man, yaknowhatimsaying?
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| My West Brighton niggas… let’s see that money come first
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| That’s right, yeah, get up in that building
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| You tell L.A. Reid and them niggas to crack that safe
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| Word up, cause we coming, J-Love
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| Aiyo Den, what up, Ice, C-Allah, what up, yo Un
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| You knowhatimean, yo, Buck, hold ya head. |
| aiyo Bean
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| You know what it is, tell E, I said what’s the deal, man
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| We gon' get this paper, this year, yo Irf, you know how we do
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| I ain’t even gotta say that much, TaVon, come holla at your boy
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| I know my jack be off all the time, but yo, that don’t mean shit, nigga
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| Come through and holla, nigga, word up, this what it is
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| Yo, S.G., that’s my son doola… ya’ll niggas keep ya’ll hands off him
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| Youknowhatimean? |
| Yo Ant Acid. |
| what’s the deal, aiyo Tech, yo Plex
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| Your boys here, nigga… word up, it’s all about paper this year, nigga, word up
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| I got mad babies to feed, I got bills nigga, one…
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| Wu-Tang for life, Cappadonna, Raekwon, what up?
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| «Ghost got the juice, now» |