Ghostface Killah, Solomon Childs, RZA - Stroke of Death lyrics
[Ghostface Killah, Solomon Childs, RZA - Stroke of Death lyrics]
Yeah, Solomon marked for life
A million to life
Thug for life, forever eyein' the kid
'89 stick-up kid, King of New York
Regulation party, daddy hard-body
Rowdy Brighton God-body
Smooth like a leather bop, '83 Hip-Hop
Top of the world, get it rizzight
Dick to your wizzife
Murder cats for the right prizzice
Four hundred and fifty-six on the dizzice
This is real lizzife, ain't nothin sweet, God
Sit down and think it through, God, God
'Cause coming all outta ya
Face'll get ya clap, god
You are now listening to the
Sounds of Supreme Clientele
Step in to the party, it's me
God Almighty, Ghost still holdin' that shotty
Dust and Alizé, three-quarter Timbs
Terry-cloth robes
Crisp hundreds in the envelope
Dookied on the globe
Thank God for my Wallabee shoe
It done saved me
Up three nothing and Salt Lake City
Burgundy minks, whips with sinks in 'em
Broccoli blown, illa disease breathe
Elephant skin meet the black Boy George
Dusted on my honeymoon bitch like my wife
She popped my Ghostface balloon
Bitches think that I'm Dominican
Slaf hash Indian
Milk on my mustache, drop to my chinny chin
Dive into dangerous parts
Buildin' with thirsty mammals
White man scream, "Swim, Starks' sharks"
Smack the jail bail bondsman
Strength of eighteen Bronzemen
Tall like Karl Malone "Mailman
" frame of Larry Johnson
Tony Montana blow, creamy white Havana Joe's
Old Suzanna ho, pussy sweet, banana flow
David Banner, gamma ray shots
Beast will marinate
Bones splittin' fatal Wu sword style
Amputate
Duck Savanna wait, we splashed the glass
Ice rocks our cash high price stock
Our logo's on your rice box
Plus your dice box on the
Side upon your white socks
Bobby got the mic cocked, buck-buck
Nice shot
A million to life
Thug for life, forever eyein' the kid
'89 stick-up kid, King of New York
Regulation party, daddy hard-body
Rowdy Brighton God-body
Smooth like a leather bop, '83 Hip-Hop
Top of the world, get it rizzight
Dick to your wizzife
Murder cats for the right prizzice
Four hundred and fifty-six on the dizzice
This is real lizzife, ain't nothin sweet, God
Sit down and think it through, God, God
'Cause coming all outta ya
Face'll get ya clap, god
You are now listening to the
Sounds of Supreme Clientele
Step in to the party, it's me
God Almighty, Ghost still holdin' that shotty
Dust and Alizé, three-quarter Timbs
Terry-cloth robes
Crisp hundreds in the envelope
Dookied on the globe
Thank God for my Wallabee shoe
It done saved me
Up three nothing and Salt Lake City
Burgundy minks, whips with sinks in 'em
Broccoli blown, illa disease breathe
Elephant skin meet the black Boy George
Dusted on my honeymoon bitch like my wife
She popped my Ghostface balloon
Bitches think that I'm Dominican
Slaf hash Indian
Milk on my mustache, drop to my chinny chin
Dive into dangerous parts
Buildin' with thirsty mammals
White man scream, "Swim, Starks' sharks"
Smack the jail bail bondsman
Strength of eighteen Bronzemen
Tall like Karl Malone "Mailman
" frame of Larry Johnson
Tony Montana blow, creamy white Havana Joe's
Old Suzanna ho, pussy sweet, banana flow
David Banner, gamma ray shots
Beast will marinate
Bones splittin' fatal Wu sword style
Amputate
Duck Savanna wait, we splashed the glass
Ice rocks our cash high price stock
Our logo's on your rice box
Plus your dice box on the
Side upon your white socks
Bobby got the mic cocked, buck-buck
Nice shot