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Absolutly Correct (Only notes will be sent) Mostly Correct, yet... The lyrics are wrong Very Wrong Not the lyrics to BLUE ARMOR
Severity is 4
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Lyric Body	(feat. Sheek Louch) [Intro: Ghostface Killah] Uh-huh [Ghostface Killah:] Greasy, razor blades, shots spray, military Armor, keep blaze packed, all day, dog's day Groundhog Day, ya'll bitch niggas got sweet hands, word I know why, why? Ya'll all gay, pop off head Get your top rocked, way across state The pamphlet read, from seven to nine, don't hold that weight Ya'll just bait, I'm a fisherman, I own this lake When I catch fish, I fry 'em, to they back I flake I smash ya'll muthafuckas like a seedless grape And hang niggas like some ceiling fans in K-Mart plates Feel me? Shake double earthquakes, give thanks, give shanks Word to my momma, I cut the grass on you fucking snakes Expose, don't tell, use a mo', round the way Go-Go down, gone with the wind, he's a he-she Bitch ass nigga for sale, like Magilla Standing in the window, with a sign, "Yes, I fuck men, though" [Interlude: Ghostface Killah (Sheek Louch)] Aiyo, Sheek (What up, dog?) Stab one of them niggas, nigga, word up! [Sheek Louch:] Aiyo, my niggas is wetted, they drunk and they trying to eat The hammers on 'em, and they ain't out looking for meat I'm jumping out cars, I'm giving you permanent stars Your hardest nigga, you can't compare him to ours I'm sitting on crates, I'm missing probation dates I'm stuck with this weight, my wifey period late I'm hot as fuck, my truck keep getting tailed It's like every week, one of mines getting jailed Forgetting bail, piss test failed Got parole on us, then wanna roll on us I'm at my momma crib sleep, who told on us? I'm sick to death, I'm on fire in the streets Like in Back to the Future, when the car left Ghost'll clap for me, fuck, rap for me Yo, tell them niggas on the Island, get strapped for me Het wet ya, and throw the stocking On his face, like when he first met cha [Ghostface Killah:] Yo, me and Sheek drug heads like a bottle of Goose I had my road dogs follow your troops Gorilla game, African tribe, Somalian crew With a flow so sick, my high temperature'll body the flu Crack heads get knocked out, right in front of the school Slap 'em Sheek, wake his ass up, he can't even move Cereal box is crack and ratchets, in the cocaine spot My fiends'll box filled with coke head classics Dope money, flood me rags of kush, heavy drags Bodegas, I'm mad, my older sister Patty's a butch Guns come out like my mother's teeth, watch how I'm throwing heat The leg gravy be steaming over smothered beef From eight-ball jackets to cops and robbers My last drug run, I threw in two bricks to garbage I wash my money in Woodlife, dunyy, sippin' on Folgers Black jewels trucking, still come through bummy
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