mighty healthy
- "My God, so they are killers. I've heard lots of people say once a man's a killer, they just keep on killing and killing; they sort of develop a taste for blood"
- "Yeah, that's right. They kill one man, or kill ten. It's all the same (yes). After all, they can only hang you once"
Both hands clusty, chilling with my man, Rusty
Low down, blew off the burner kinda dusty
The world can't touch Ghost, purple tape, Rae co-host
Monty Hall expo, intellect, you read pro
Son trifling fuck, wildflower on the cycle and
Picked up the broom thought I was Michael-in'
West Brighton Pool, now I'm into Iron Duels
Turn Nuns to Earths Whoopi, she at Allah school
Inhale break beats of Hell A-Alikes propel parallel
Duracell knot, you flash a burnt cell
Snap out of CandyLand kids, the old rumor is
Blacks become immune and shit, we never did
Like eating dead birds, trust the pharmacy over herbs
Men marrying men, ill they got the urge, pulsar
Scissor hand wig vanished in the winter, living off land
You god damn right I fuck fans, king me
Check checkmate props like the micro chip founder
Neck to neck stock with Bill Gates now
When we hug these mics we get busy
Come and have a good time with G-O-D
Make you snap your fingers or wiggle
Scream, shout, laugh or just giggle
Shake that body, party that body
Don't fuck with Ghost you'll feel sorry
That's word, I'm not the herb
Understand what I'm saying, saying, saying
Hit mics like Ted Koppel, rifle expert
Let off the Eiffel, burn a flag in your grass, spiteful
Ringleader set it off, rap Derek Jeter
Culprit, prince of the game wish you could see us
We lay low glitter wax full bangles
Priceless ropes, lay around the God get tangled
Woolly hair, eyes fiery red, feet made of brass
Twelve men following me, it be the God staff
Move, every script's like Miramax
Smash the big boy, totalled it, Wilshire and Fairfax
Son beaming wifey on the beach, sipping Zima
Wu 'binos to latinos, we love Selena
Overnight, God schedules, Fed-Ex
Pretty silhouette velvet nice DNA scroll genetics
Too hot to handle, one thought from scrambling the mandolin
Hundred game Wilt Chamberlain, smack 'em, say when
He rolling up, face wrinkled up, hands is on his nuts
Yo kid stop fronting on the ground 'fore you get touched
It's Canada Dry sess with Allah, son
We want rye, we want it so bad we might cry
For every blow, depends on breath control
So it's the first thing you must learn
Fortunately it's easy
You'll soon learn
My God so they are killers
Killing and killing
They sort of develop a taste for blood