Royce da 5'9", Hall, Nash, Styles P - The Banjo lyrics

Die, bitch, die, ho new God flow, no I'll go
Diablo, why, ho? Why, bitch, do time tick?
Think about it, you die slow
If not you die quick
I’m sicker than Theraflu
Wickeder than a kick over headstone
Sippin' on redrum
After I'm finished just swimmin' inside
Of the dead pool
After I'm finished just inflictin' on the
Guy a despicable head wound
Nothin' is important, but to import tons
On my fourth run while I'm eatin'
Lunch with my forked tongue
I swing this motherfuckin' barrel loose
I don't fuck with knives, nigga
I'm Sardo Numsie
Y'all need to call the police
On my people regardless
Rock a bye with my piece then
Call it Keisha in Harlem
I'm the highest of all beings
My eye is the all-seeing
Dribblin' fireballs with lion paws
For my audience

What if the Devil played the banjo?
What if he invited you out
On the dance floor?
There's one of six million different
Ways this can go

Ayo, your fishscale Fisher-Price
First shot killed a nigga
But I hit him twice
My trigger finger itchin' like it was lice
Sent the white in a pot with the ice
Whipped it nice
Hurricane whipped the whole slab
Fiend hit the glass, hit his ass
You know the math
I toe tag me a nigga, you know I spaz
I throw a bag to my young nigga
He'll get it over fast g-wag, 24 karat
Silencer on the MAC-12
You ain't even hear it
Lightning strikin' on the Neil Barrett
Fuck nigga don't get embarrassed
Fuck your two Sarah's out in Paris
Bitch nigga, your life, you better cherish
Ten shooters show up to your
Show just to air it
Uh, Griselda, the dinner place swingin'
Body in the Bentley truck, shit reakin'

What if the Devil played the banjo?
What if he invited you out
On the dance floor?
There's one of six million different
Ways this can go (So go fast)

Eyes are the windows to the soul
What your secret is?
Once had to battle the reaper
And I ethered him
No tellin' what I'll sing on the mic
He got reefer in 'em
Ghost guts, I can see a ghost
And speak to 'em
Buildin' with the dead like every other night
And I never write a rhyme
I recite my other life
You thinkin' this a verse
But it's more of a testimonial
So flow, up in the zone, only the lonely know
Thinkin' I'm geekin', but I'm
Reachin' my dead homies, though
Told 5'9 if I have a nine to five
I'll line rappers with the nine
And rob em five times
Every day, seven days a week
Call it crime time or
Thirty-five licks, nigga
That's a prime rhyme
Fightin' Bruce Lee's demon
But I'm agin' like fine wine
You don't understand me
Cause you don't stand under the
Code that mean family ghost is uncanny

What if the Devil played the banjo?
What if he invited you out
On the dance floor?
There's one of six million different
Ways this can go