Ghostface k**ah - Dirt (Remix) lyrics

[Prodigy] Call it how it is - according to the facts If rap was prison our sh** would be the Supermax No sunshine, just dark skies Nothing but dark thoughts going through my mind I got bad blood, mad love only for the team though Everyone one of us is the shooter, now where the beef go I ain't seen none of these n***as and we out here Wanna be celebrity thugs a lot of mouth, yeah Oh my god we could not be f**ed with Real sh** look at our life all in the public We under the microscope they all watching us We have no choice but to keep it trill they sizing us And if they wasn't god, always pay attention don't he I couldn't live with myself being phony Look, if life was a game then I guess we winning Cuz this life we made for ourselves is b**hing [Havoc] Didn't want to do it but the voices tug and pullin' On my eardrums something that I knew I shouldn't Got me wildin with the ratchet out like sh** is legal Looking for a victim put 'em in the fetal f** is going on? when it's on I know it's on But sh** not really popping and I'm looking for a war Looking out my window pointing sh** at police To make matters worse I'm sipping on some OE sh** got me buzzing, I'm already bugging though With mad [???] bottles that I drank about a month ago f** is on my mind? I'm feeling bipolar Plus paranoid looking over both shoulders I woke up with blood on my hands f** I do this time? now a n***a scared f**, I'll probably get the f**ing chair Grab my f**ing gun, a few clothes son I'm outta here [Ghostface k**ah] Hey Yo Hav, what's good with ya boy? Hey yo P, why they f**in with the baby? Got me ready to spaz, son tell him be easy For easy fews, I get'em chunked in the shishkebabs I got scars, n***a, I lay bars, lay ..., lay laws Roast a n***a like... Son, you god damn right I f** fans, I live on tour I raise again to shake, my gun got bling on it Move like the Mexican cartel, behead and kingfold Bra** knuckle your jaw, belt buckle your who*e Take it back to my stapleton days, I'm quick on the draw co*ky, my Amex(?) swallows, grip the streets I make a b**h shower that a**, before she slides in the sheets Allow meat, fresh veggie bowl of sour diesel leaves And burn sh**, 'till I'm back like Christopher Reeve f** the Febreze, I'm stinkin' like that Ol' Dirty ba*tard That's that Wu and Mobb sh**, don't turn it up, blast it