Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Starkology, artist - Ghostface Killah. Date of issue: 31.12.2009
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Starkology |
| Yo… yo |
| Y’all respect my tour bus |
| We got whores with no drawers ready to do all four of us! |
| Wildin, bustin big bags of Ruffles |
| Show money, rubber band’d up in the duffle |
| With dirtball niggas that steal cake from stores |
| Boostin niggas that pop tags in the mall |
| True spot hoggers, used a few stockings |
| Niggas hand over the cash when heat’s to they noggin |
| I sing a lil' lullaby, who gon' testify |
| The way a gruesome murder been televised? |
| Stupid! |
| My name still ring in the streets though |
| Eighty-six, used to slip crack through the peephole |
| Biscuit like vaseline if I was a crook |
| In rap I’m past the cream, brand more lean |
| If you niggas complain of sore throats |
| Shove the gun in they mouth, throat got scratched |
| They suckin on Halls yo |
| Yeah, yo |
| Yo this verse is like leavin the gas on |
| Hog-tie a nigga for his bread, have the Hefty bag on |
| By any means, a cheddar king |
| Got a '98 kid’s voice on smooth like Lenny Green |
| Word to my mother I air y’all niggas out |
| Bigger chromers for the one who got the bigger mouth |
| («Shout, shout, I’m talking to you, c’mon!») |
| Go 'head and try me, you know you a bird |
| You could be on +Gangland+ wit’cha face all blurred |
| Skull deaded up slumped over the curb |
| Just watch next time how you write your words |
| Leave you hangin like your last name |
| Or a old man’s nuts that sag with no shame |
| Payback’s a bitch; |
| yeah I smash y’all berries |
| 'fore they find you dead in your +Little House on the Prairie+ |
| Yo, I can do this on crutches black with no legs |
| Both arms in a sling, push me on stage |
| Style still linger in the air like Glade |
| Girls my early 20's I used to run trains |
| Chill I got next, go behind Dirt |
| Sometimes I had to chill instead get neck |
| Rich chandelier gown all over my flesh |
| 'Bout to throw ladies to Haiti, peace to Wyclef |
| Blowed y’all cream never throw dollar bills up |
| You know we window baggin that krillz up |
| Fingertips hurt puttin that work in |
| Move that white in bulk nigga like Jergens |
| New rappers need to skip town |
| This the East coast music, Grandpa Ghost is around |
| Icon tellin y’all now |
| Be out before dawn 'fore shit get wild~! |