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Letra

    [Intro: scratched up samples]
    "You out there, on now"
    "Sorry... that's word, I'm not the herb"
    "Understand what I'm saying, saying, saying"
    "It's the hardcore"
    "Set it off, rusty, low down"
    "Following me, it be the God"
    "Whatever, whatever"
    "God all"
    "All New York, ight"

    [Ghostface Killah]
    Yo, aiyo, the Wally man's coming, you can hear his chain dangle
    Brolic arm, check out the ankle
    Best cuts, diamond sittin' sideways, like they sit in the cup
    You can pour Goose on it, juice on it, two Jamaican sluts
    On the streets, cousin, word life, them big boy Toys'R'Us
    Got them S5 fifties Maybach's, push suede back
    Four hundred g's, on the concrete, save that
    Like James Brown, it's the Big Payback
    Same place you front's where you get laid at
    Strong arm a nigga for real, we eat ya food
    Like dog, muthafucka, in replace of a meal
    Give you a two hour car chase, flying through lakes and bushes
    Holding the wheel, still burning the swishes
    Exotic killas who bribe to kill us, and we pay for a tab
    Don't matter what size the bill is
    We don't need your support, wack speech your thought
    Just to rhyme my shit when the tape cut off
    The price of fame, a dope chain, the same chain
    Yo, he tapped to the roof, watch the block, watch 'em hang

    [Chorus: Ghostface Killah]
    From Broad Street down to Milledge
    You fucking with experienced killas
    Mean wolves, silver back gorillas
    Them Theodore kids' gorillas
    You fucking with experienced killas
    Silver back gorillas

    [Ghostface Killah]
    The grenade gonna hit like a bomb from Flex
    The street is never at peace when I palm a tech
    My enemies is sub, dude, I'm a black belt
    The moves I do, is how Bruce stick Kareem Abdul
    Same dudes give a bitch booze, stupid rich dudes
    Crystal, chandellier ice, keep a wrist full
    Cuz, if Lil' Jon, can ice his cup
    I top that shit, and ice my nuts
    See I'm a threat when it comes to rocks
    At 3 A.M., you like damn, who put the sun on the block
    Is he crazy? Illuminate like the Son of God
    And still pull up in the hoopted out rented car
    With dust and weed on him, knock the neighborhood bully out
    Take his gun and pee on him
    The magazines cant develop my flicks
    The negatives came, and printed out them c-note chips
    Keep the heat flaming, beats banging, bottle of weed stanking
    Competition, yo, I'm giving out strict spankings
    Burn 'em like bacon, some want Satan
    In the hell fire, screaming, yo I'm sorry for faking, baking

    [Chorus]



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