"Pistol Smoke" lyrics
(feat. Solomon Childs)
[Ghostface Killah:]
Yo, yeah
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
[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
[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
[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
Yo, yeah
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
[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
[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
[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
