4 in a Clip

[Intro: Styles P]
Yeah, what up?
You know who it is, S.P. The Ghost
Right now you're listening to Untold Scriptures
Sickest Mixtape out right now
Yo, Nino, what up, my nigga?

[Verse 1: Styles P]
Deuce-deuce in the deuce five
Hollow points, bullets ricochet on your insides
Men die, get buried and forgot
They try to kill me a lot but they ain't pick the right tool to come and pick a lock
It's the Ghost, Nino, [?], G Rap, wait
Godfather, let me know who I should castrate
Untold Scriptures, long walk my feet got blisters
Heat got me twisted
Long hawk pointed at a sword, I won't miss it
The corpse, I kiss it
Mob rules, our rules, you ain't get'cha fingerprint
Just another rapper on some singer shit
Two lobby, swingin' it, worry niggas
Mother fuckin' bury niggas
Terror of ast era this one and the next one
Still get based the same day that the check come
You don't want a knife in your rectum, American Me
Blood In, Blood Out when you fuckin' with P
I get it in like a esé, better yet the army
Gun shoot 'til the next day
Can't find a phone with an x-ray when P get done
Knock your fuckin' legs off when I seen 'em run
Whoa

[Verse 2: Nino Bless]
Now I'm sick of what these lames be spittin' like 50 Cent hook's what The Game's been missin'
How the fuck you gon' claim a position?
Your shit's crack? Well I must be the raw 'caine in the kitchen
Wait, these kid's talkin', give off the impression like they don't know 'who shot ya's' a rhetorical question
Like they can't get got once you's taught a few lessons
That's why I ain't get popped, nobody forced me to listen
I watched you fly, spotted jetted leeches
Hood nigga who gets deeper than Frederick Beecher
Keep a clip for a snitch who tips off
You jits is chips off of niggas you bit off
Some slick talkin' his [?] across your jug'
I'ma big dog, the [?] lettin' off with the grub
I see [?] while I'm [?] your mug
Sick thoughts, hit you with a few slugs then Crip Walk in your blood, bitch
This game's a rip-off and assbackwards like them jeans on Kris Kross
I mean, I'm fit for it but I stay with a plan B
Plan C, sling trees, make twenty a grand, weed
Man, please, ask around, my fam squeeze
And they stay in the hood like niggas that can't read
One false move, two shoots, you done
I'm the one-man band, the Juice crew in one, nigga

[Verse 3: Joell Ortiz]
Man, y'all heard the ball rap so go 'head and fall back
'Cause you don't want your face takin' the place of a doormat
Go 'head and act stupid like Borat, you get your jaw cracked
You be stretched on the floor long than that Saw cat
That red fluid that swim through your body, you'll pour that
Well, it's blue before that but you'll lose all that
My bullets'll escort you, show you where that morgue at
Then my lawyer'll beat the case with a baseball bat
One shot, two shot, three shot, oh
No, I got a four, no, five, no, six-shot four-four
So what y'all wanna be a foe for?
It leave giant holes like fee-fi-fo, whoa
You niggas talkin' but you don't live it, it's awkward
Why would you even floss it, knowin' you'll come up off it?
I know lil' dudes whojust can't afford it
They'll stick in [?] then stay broke and sport it
Never has a planned out hit been aborted
More people than we expected is more people in orbit
We excellently put the X on those to be extorted
Don't have your contract and tribute to my next mortage
My attitude towards it? Man, I can't call it
'Cause see, I might spoil it, then you'll sip it and get nauseous
For those who don't know the slang, what I'm sayin' is this
Never ever will y'all know when I'm finna play with that fifth

[Verse 4: Kool G Rap]
I'ma good to armageddon with armor and weapons, [?] is depressin'
Arm, leg, leg, arm, head, palmin' the Wesson
Blow your head, arm, leg, leg, arm into sections
Fire fire, arms your direction, I supply you pawns you could rest in
I expire calm with aggression, prior to palmin' your intenstines
I'm pumped up
Kid, I don't live fuck, crunk cups
I lift the grail like I'm the one that was failed, nailed in a Christian tale
But as a victor, I will prevail
My foot will trail well, it'll register 'bout a twelve on the Rictor Scale
Man, a sack right out there in Sac could tip the scale
Focal packs like the Anthrax, they shipped the mail
I'm a dragon with a exhale with a whippin' tail
Box you up like them niggas that sit down after three minutes and spit in pails
I strip and tell like the strippin' males at Chip N Dales
Style confusin' this cold fusion
I'm a master at speedin' street money up from slow movin'
Doctor's degree in the fast lane, I'm no student
Mass killer, first to blast, last to quiver
X pinched last dealer, so what's up where I stash skrilla
Benjamin math peeler with a couple of [?] in the chiller
It's all real, homie