Yo, you could throw me in a lineup, rough beard
Thick knot and my shines up
Mediterranean bezels rocks planted like saltines
Worth about 600,000 in the Auck scene
I still jog in the hills of Brazil
Twelve eggs and my conditioning coach is Anderson Sil
He's a prized fighter and me, I'm a prized writer
Time you industry niggas recognize fire
Boric acid mixed with ricin
Don't stand under a tree 'cause my flow is lightning
Some say I should be prosecuted death by lethal injection
Electrocuted or Malcolm X em'
Or send a Chinese bitch in the club to stretch em'
And if that don't work then on to the next one
Beef we can let it cook, fried to perfection
Got a bulldog snub that'll cave your chest in
Ayo, my moms never knew that she was nursin' a wolf
And I wrote this on 9/11, covered in soot
Spittin' tobacco out my mouth in Claiborne fatigues
Posted under a Brinks truck waiting to squeeze
They on point like the nose of a Marlin, Spartacus brawlin'
Pressing out pushes and public, nigga, you stolen away
Nowhere to run, faggot, I'll grab your ear
My shootin' arm stay fresh like a bag of gear
Goose coats, yachts, diving off of big boats
My bitch pedicured up with a sick throat
So cold, making you stutter
"I-I-I c-c-can't believe Ghost is still gutter!"
Everywhere I go, I'm caligged up
Cohen optical frames of brightlon, dealt with a crisp cut
See me on a Jackson 5 cover next to Randy
They had black 'fros, mine was sandy
Buckwheat Jackson
Ghostface Killah - Conditioning Lyrics
Ghostface Killah - Conditioning Lyrics
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Yo, you could throw me in a lineup, rough beard
Thick knot and my shines up
Mediterranean bezels rocks planted like saltines
Worth about 600,000 in the Auck scene
I still jog in the hills of Brazil
Twelve eggs and my conditioning coach is Anderson Sil
He's a prized fighter and me, I'm a prized writer
Time you industry niggas recognize fire
Boric acid mixed with ricin
Don't stand under a tree 'cause my flow is lightning
Some say I should be prosecuted death by lethal injection
Electrocuted or Malcolm X em'
Or send a Chinese bitch in the club to stretch em'
And if that don't work then on to the next one
Beef we can let it cook, fried to perfection
Got a bulldog snub that'll cave your chest in
Ayo, my moms never knew that she was nursin' a wolf
And I wrote this on 9/11, covered in soot
Spittin' tobacco out my mouth in Claiborne fatigues
Posted under a Brinks truck waiting to squeeze
They on point like the nose of a Marlin, Spartacus brawlin'
Pressing out pushes and public, nigga, you stolen away
Nowhere to run, faggot, I'll grab your ear
My shootin' arm stay fresh like a bag of gear
Goose coats, yachts, diving off of big boats
My bitch pedicured up with a sick throat
So cold, making you stutter
"I-I-I c-c-can't believe Ghost is still gutter!"
Everywhere I go, I'm caligged up
Cohen optical frames of brightlon, dealt with a crisp cut
See me on a Jackson 5 cover next to Randy
They had black 'fros, mine was sandy
Buckwheat Jackson
Thick knot and my shines up
Mediterranean bezels rocks planted like saltines
Worth about 600,000 in the Auck scene
I still jog in the hills of Brazil
Twelve eggs and my conditioning coach is Anderson Sil
He's a prized fighter and me, I'm a prized writer
Time you industry niggas recognize fire
Boric acid mixed with ricin
Don't stand under a tree 'cause my flow is lightning
Some say I should be prosecuted death by lethal injection
Electrocuted or Malcolm X em'
Or send a Chinese bitch in the club to stretch em'
And if that don't work then on to the next one
Beef we can let it cook, fried to perfection
Got a bulldog snub that'll cave your chest in
Ayo, my moms never knew that she was nursin' a wolf
And I wrote this on 9/11, covered in soot
Spittin' tobacco out my mouth in Claiborne fatigues
Posted under a Brinks truck waiting to squeeze
They on point like the nose of a Marlin, Spartacus brawlin'
Pressing out pushes and public, nigga, you stolen away
Nowhere to run, faggot, I'll grab your ear
My shootin' arm stay fresh like a bag of gear
Goose coats, yachts, diving off of big boats
My bitch pedicured up with a sick throat
So cold, making you stutter
"I-I-I c-c-can't believe Ghost is still gutter!"
Everywhere I go, I'm caligged up
Cohen optical frames of brightlon, dealt with a crisp cut
See me on a Jackson 5 cover next to Randy
They had black 'fros, mine was sandy
Buckwheat Jackson
Writer: Dennis Coles
Copyright: Lyrics © Spirit Music Group
Copyright: Lyrics © Spirit Music Group