R.a.g.u. Lyrics - Fishscale - Ghostface Killah

Hold it 

Now you get out of here, I'm warning you 

You bastards can't push us around, wanna fight? 

I'll take you on 

That nigga's twisted, stop playin' with that clip man 

Close them fuckin' blinds too man, y'knahmsayin'? 

Yo, Don my, man, get out of the stove, man 

Get away from the stove, nigga 

Stop playin' man, the fuck is you talkin' 'bout? 

I'm in the crib watchin' Larry King Live 

The new Guccis on refrigerator, smokin' some kush 

This nigga's a lighter swisher, becomin' a roach 

Go get the glass ashtray, pour the glass of Crut 

Tap the bottle then toast 

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Barrie took a sip for the cause, yeah my son 

Soon to be three, tried to fill his bottle then run 

Then I got a collect call, heard niggaz down the block is fightin' 

Some nigga got, knifed up brawlin' 

Heard the kid was nineteen, Lil' Infinity too 

His father worked up at the dealer, he loved boo 

They tried him for his Louis', son wasn't havin' it though 

Yeah, yeah, my nigga, the color of glue 

Decided on a intervene, guess who tried to wild on me my nigga 

This is like out of the blue 

I'm in the Range stretch, jumped out, tucked the chain 

Proceeded to talk to him, then you heard the heavy face slap 

Think I broke my wrist, now I'm at the hospital vexed 

Fucked up my writing hand, that's my check 

Now I wanna kill this lil' nigga true 

Only thing that stop my gun flamin' 'cause he related to you 

Photos 

Who? He ain't related to me 

Just that I knew him for like eighteen years until he violated 

Stealin' my gear 

If my lil' homey, yo he eat anything for me 

Send him uptown, he get bagged, yo he never call me 

Come home and still blow cats for me 

Pump crack, stabbin' all them hoodrat shorties 

A live gunslinger well known, born to dance when the heat is on 

Stapleton days, shoot himself in the groin' 

The gun went off, it looked like a flick 

When he fell to the floor, holdin' his nuts 

Screamin' "God damnit, shit I put one in my balls" 

What the fuck y'all lookin' at me for? 

Call the police, do somethin' 

Motherfuckers standin' around, watch when I get better 

All hell's gonna be terror 

Death to you, you," he pointed at Red 

I said chill that's fam duke 

He put real work in that make you cute, fuck that 

But anyway, son, indeed, he stole two Polo rugbies 

Swore to his dead mother, I couldn't take it 

Yo, Lord, I knocked out his teeth 

Now he's rockin' those false joints like everything's peace