Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Street Opera, artist - Ghostface Killah. Date of issue: 31.12.2005
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Street Opera |
| I stay far from my opponents, pardon me dogs |
| That’s why lead the call, they moving up on us |
| But them g’s on the corners, move when I move |
| That’s a warning, or I’mma have my goons spin a garment |
| Think it’s sweet, and try to creep or run up on us |
| Shit’ll get deeper than twelve foot, and you be leaking out of order |
| Don’t beef, if you ain’t beefin’for no quarters |
| Cuz pain is money, you float funny when you surfin’the water |
| I’m that dude slangin’pack by the border |
| I love my life, I live it twice, cuz it’s up to me sorta |
| You a fool with a mental disorder, and it’s probably your daughter |
| That really love me, for the shit that I taught her |
| Will Smith on the guest list, pops is the king |
| I’m the fresh prince, forty oil tune, kick ya chest in Us that got the universe confession, pardon your dame |
| I’m new to the game, but true to my lessons |
| Jeans, hoods, guns, crack |
| Visions of me swallowing crack, being chased by jake |
| And the sound of the razor keep hitting the plate |
| And tooters is flab with rugers, with daggers and them jeans |
| We chew through it, like we coming down off woolas |
| And my P.O., she half Creole, I move from Philly to Dallas |
| With true talent, like my name is T.O. |
| So when I piss, I gotta piss slow, she know I kick them Vasine bottles |
| Cuz if I’m dirty, I ain’t letting it go Your project steps is Ajax down, dry blood |
| Maintenance men with the scrub brush, scraping the ground |
| Diapers, baby rattles and broke lighters, I led many |
| Horses to water, just to see if they like it Taste my, Betty Crock', ready rock, bet he cock, now |
| News flash, my nigga ridin’L, laid a cop down |
| Any of ya niggas want beef, I will stop clowns |
| I got a bad ox’fifth, now how the glock sound? |
| [Ghostface Killah) (Sun God) |
| Aiyo, what up S.G. (Aiyo, what’s poppin’my nigga |
| I’m just oil in the toolies, exercising my trigger |
| Finger, I got the biggest bangers) Yeah, I got a crispy stainless |
| Your mans ain’t fucking those hoes, they just a bunch of gamers |
| (Them head shots, neck shots, probably blow they brains in |
| I’m so close to the edge, pushin’they fucking face in) |
| I bet you now, them muthafuckas really start complaining |
| (No hesitation, my reputation’ll leave 'em chaining) |
| We go hard, like the NARC’s when we start invading |
| (I copped the license and registration, to cock and aiming) |
| It’s all entertainment (And all my niggas made it) |
| We hard body like Wu-Tang and Iron Maiden |
| (I keep the iron blazing, hands hurt |
| Like a bitch when she putting braids in, I think it’s so amazing) |
| We ran trains for hours, up in the Days Inn |
| Hood rats and crack motels, we seen baking |
| Yeah, good… |