| Hunnid Gs
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| Bone crusher, I’m like the hood’s top celebrity
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| Long dick ya chick like my rap’s longevity
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| Colder than a glass of ice cubes
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| I got 'em all in bad moods, stompin' on shoes, I never lose
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| I don’t give a fuck about how you’re feelin'
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| Got the roof on fire, legs to the ceilin'
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| Sexual healin', we throw on that Marvin Gaye shit
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| Got two black burners, that’ll melt your facelift
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| Memory foam muffle the sound of the gun blast
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| My clan bring heat like the summer, check the forecast
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| We kamikazes, microphone aeronautics
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| We bounce off promoters like West Coast hydraulics
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| Narcotics, we keep a stash in the gun box
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| Right near the mask and the wig are the fake dreadlocks
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| Bumboclaat, box of ammo in the pocket
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| It’s all fun and games 'til your eye’s hangin' out your socket
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| Watch how you’re talkin' to my goons, it’s guerillas
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| Shooters, ruthless, all types of killers
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| Hunger Game shit, they’re fightin' for block space
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| Box cutters, Gem Stars’ll ox your face
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| Watch how you’re talkin' to my goons, it’s guerillas
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| Shooters, ruthless, all types of killers
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| Hunger Game shit, they’re fightin' for block space
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| Box cutters, Gem Stars’ll ox your face
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| Hey yo, I got a problem with authority
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| Lawyers handle problems accordingly
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| They actin' like they pops wasn’t callin' me
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| I gotta make sure my corner eat
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| Over the stove pot leaned to the side like I’m pourin' tea
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| Black man in a foreign V, emblem on the door and seats
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| Either you a hustler or a thief
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| All I needed was a quarter ki'
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| In the corner, me and my dawg regulated like Warren G
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| Sold it hot, but I bought it cheap
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| Got it from Miami back to P.A. |
| like Ross and Meek
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| Huh, borrowed your bitch for a week
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| She hold my guns and bricks, I give her dick for a storage fee
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| You talk slick, but can’t afford to be
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| And we don’t call it beef until I’m sendin' hits where your daughters be
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| Step on work with foreign sneaks
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| Everything foreign so my bitch look like Kimora Lee
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| Watch how you’re talkin' to my goons, it’s guerillas
|
| Shooters, ruthless, all types of killers
|
| Hunger Game shit, they’re fightin' for block space
|
| Box cutters, Gem Stars’ll ox your face
|
| Watch how you’re talkin' to my goons, it’s guerillas
|
| Shooters, ruthless, all types of killers
|
| Hunger Game shit, they’re fightin' for block space
|
| Box cutters, Gem Stars’ll ox your face
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| Yeah, bandana tied around the nozzle, pop pop!
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| The nozzle is the nostril of the Roscoe, pop pop!
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| Possibly I’m comin' across as hostile
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| You could be double-crossed by your apostle, that’s the Pentecostal gospel
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| Black C.O.B. |
| flag hangin' out the left side
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| Blowin' in the atmosphere, the atlas here is Westside
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| Ran up in the stash spot when I heard my connect died
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| His wife is Columbian, got Columbian neck tied
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| I went from roaches in the cereal to flowin' the most ferocious in your stereo
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| But culture vultures don’t hear me though
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| Hotter than diseases that overdose the venereal
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| While bitches out here with a burnin' bush like the Moses miracle
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| Why the fuck would I touch a thot with some gonorrhea?
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| I give her the hammer, I call it a blammer, that’s onomatopoeia
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| Go look it up, you don’t read books enough
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| That’s why Crooked’s up in your Mamma Mia, I’m a G, nigga
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| (I'm a G, nigga) |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Buckingham Palace, artist - Ghostface Killah. Album song Ghost Files - Bronze Tape, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп