Pistol Smoke

Lyrics

[Intro: Ghostface Killah] Yo, yeah [Verse 1: Ghostface Killah] You  can get clapped in the deadly hall Where  the killers skate off in the clean G Wagen, all gray Chain swingin', the god-gods was tried for 'meanors Gucci, last thing they seen hittin' the cement The  fuck y'all standing around for? Watch  my reels, I make scripts off strips like, "Hold on, strip" I don't care what he say, how many guns he got Just  ask your mans about my flicks Movies, gruesome, bombs, we boofed it Rikers Island, that phone got bodies on it, true shit A click, two sticks, it'll cost you, baby That's  two pin joints if I lost you, baby Yeah, I'm back, we can go bar for bar Tie hands together with the aux, go scar for scar Go 'head and act up, injuries gon' add up Walkin' out the ER like a mummy, all wrapped up Come on board, shooters, we hirin' Scarface bald head niggas, we admire them Rumor has it a lot of frauds got flaws on 'em See a lot of Madea in niggas, wrong drawers on 'em [Chorus: Solomon Childs] Many legs I broke, many necks I choked (Right) Many legs I broke (Right), many necks I choked (Right) Many legs I broke (Right), many necks I choked (Right) And if provoked, I let the pistol smoke (Brr) Many legs I broke, many necks I choked Many legs I broke, many necks I choked Many legs I broke, many necks I choked And if provoked, I let the pistol smoke [Verse 2: Ghostface Killah] I held 'em up like a pair of crutches Had 'em all in a jam like I ran with Smuckers Cops, sirens, paparazzis over hot bodies Headshots in the Maserati Don't wrap that nigga, no Polo sheets Keep it discrete, I told that nigga he'd be dead in a week His bitch told me where he rest, where he keep his cheese He got a stashbox in the wheel in both his V's I got forty-seven cocaine connects out in Monaco Top of the line, these coke chefs made the honor roll And that's the reason I don't fuck with faggots Twenty-one guns that go savage Seventy nuns that tote smoke in the old baggage Whatever I see, I grab it You get the message like it's all in a tablet You straight bitch like Tiff Haddish Hustle grands like Tip Harris The whole hood drop like a miscarriage [Chorus: Solomon Childs] Many legs I broke, many necks I choked (Right) Many legs I broke (Right), many necks I choked (Right) Many legs I broke (Right), many necks I choked (Right) And if provoked, I let the pistol smoke (Brr) Many legs I broke, many necks I choked Many legs I broke, many necks I choked Many legs I broke, many necks I choked And if provoked, I let the pistol smoke