| Yo, straight out the ghetto, I’m damn hood
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| I stack a dollar like a whole rack of canned goods
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| Baggy jeans, no Timbs, ACG boots
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| Livin' in the crack spot, bangin' that Sheek Louch
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| The narcotics is far from garbage
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| Whether it’s cold or it’s late August
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| My shit is fresh cuz I catch the hottest
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| My little cousin bubble swatches and carry a couple oxes
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| Keep a deuce deuce by his ankle and get it poppin'
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| You know, we be the boys clockin' the graveyard shift
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| Big bubbles, countin' the cream, burnin' the lazar spliff
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| My man jumps out the whip with the AR 5th
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| And we ball from plenties of parties, 'cause we start shit
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| Parole holes, six months in the box
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| My little sister got her head shaved off
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| She made it home from shock
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| We sellin cartons, Pampers, Similac formula
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| Anything you take because the paper keep callin ya
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| Gangsters keep ballin fosho, we want more
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| We make it rain from the tech and the wop
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| The next coroner priests don’t have enough cups for us
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| To slow us up, they hit us with dusk
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| Then they rush-bust, my man Big Ron will break the cuffs
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| 300 pound nigga, po-po has to fuck him up
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| They say that my projects should undergo therapy
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| We never voted, we votin' for Oprah, Obama, and Eric B
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| Guns imported from Duval
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| Wheelchairs and shit bags
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| Peach Snapples and pretty scalpels, renaissance
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| I’ll stick a pick in ya gut at the chapel
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| I’ll blow a nigga for a box of Huggies
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| Cop-killers with a box of dummies
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| Dummies, stuck to the project floors
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| Niggas is suited up and we ready for war
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| It’s the Broad Street Bully and the Killah with no Face
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| My mac bullets burn like tequila with no chase, yeah!
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| My knife work like the guillotine sword, cutting niggas
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| Stop frontin' for my killa bee swarm, something
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| Empty out the whole clip and reload
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| Shotgun barrel leave it smoking like a broke stove
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| Yeah, and I’m all about that bullshit
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| The casket, the hearse, and the pastor in the pulpit
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| I kill a nigga at the drop of a dime
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| Just imagine what I’d do for a quarter
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| Ain’t no tellin what I’d do for a dollar
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| Pop a nigga right in front of his mama
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| Son a nigga right in front of his daughter
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| And I’m nothing like your father
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| You couldn’t come from these nuts I got
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| And C. Baltimore sucked this cock
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| I know most of y’all wouldn’t understand
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| Get it? |
| Understand?
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| Yeah some niggas will and some niggas won’t
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| Like some niggas kill and some niggas don’t (uh-uh)
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| You’s a fake-it-'til-you-make-it of nigga
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| I’m a straight-up-take-it type of nigga
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| Pistol-whip-a-nigga-'til-I-break-it type of nigga
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| I’m hard on chumps, most of these dudes is fags
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| Put the guarder on pumps, push the broom up they ass
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| Or the knife like American me, American Sig' is Muslim
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| So I ain’t feelin Bush overseas
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| I think with the wisdom of Malcolm, got the soul of a Panther
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| So by any means is the anthem
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| You gonna have to cut me out the track like cancer
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| I can’t stop, won’t stop
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| This how we do it from Philly to Shaolin |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Toney Sigel a.k.a. The Barrel Brothers , by - Ghostface Killah. Song from the album GhostDeini The Great, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп