Stroke Of Death Lyrics - Supreme Clientele - Ghostface Killah

Yeah, Soloman marked for life, a million to life 

Thug for life, forever eyein' the kid 

'89 stick-up kid, King of New York 

Regulation party, daddy hard body 

Rowdy Brighton God-body 

Smooth like a leather bop, '83 hip-hop 

Top of the world, get it rizzight big to your wizzife 

Murder cats for the right prizzice 

Four-hundred and fifty-six on the dizzice 

This is real lizzife, ain't nothin' sweet God 

Sit down and think it through God, God 

'Cuz comin' all outta ya face'll get ya clap, God 

You are now listening to the sounds of Supreme Clientele 

Step in to the party, it's me 

God Almighty, Ghost still holdin' that shotty 

Dustin Alize', three-quarter Timbs, Terry-cloth robes 

Crisp hundreds in the envelope, duke it on the globe 

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Thank God for my Wallabee shoes, they done saved me 

Up three-nothin' and Salt Lake City 

Burgundy minks, whips with sinks in 'em 

Brocolli blown, illa disease breath, elephant skin 

Meet the black Boy George, dusted on my honeymoon 

Bitch like my wife, she popped my Ghostface balloon 

Bitches think that I'm Dominican, slap-hash Indian 

Milk on my mustache, drop to my chiny-chin 

Dive into dangerous parts, buildin' with thirsty mammals 

White man scream, "Swim Starks sharks" 

Smack the girl, bailbonds man stripped of eighteen bronz man 

Tall like Carl Malone "Mailman", framed on Larry Johnson 

Tony Montana blow, creamy white Havana Joe's 

Old Suzanna hoe, pussy sweet, banana flow 

David Banner, gamma ray shots, beast will marinate 

Bones splitted fatal Wu swords, sour amputate 

Photos 

Duck Savanna wait, we splashed the glass, ice rocks 

Our cash high right stock, our logo's on your rice box 

Plus your dice box, on the side upon your white socks 

Bobby got the mic cocked, buck, buck, nice shot