— No, man, all bitches are the same, just like my hoes, you know. I keep ‘em broke, wake up one morning with some money, they're subject to go crazy you know? I keep ‘em lookin' good, pretty and all that, you know, but no dough. When I get a bitch, I got a bitch right on.
[Ghostface Killah:]
Word up!
Got mothafuckin' brother wise,
You know what I'm sayin'? Teachin' the uncivilized,
Yeah, runnin' the streets, you know, it's deep.
Word up! Check his technique, yeah!
I be Ghostface, flippin' the marvelous track.
Yeah, you know the steelo, but yo, yo!
Check the bangingest sounds that I invent,
Fake niggas, who tried to flex hard came and went,
They couldn't match up with the fly nigga with his back against the wall.
Heads clapped once I came in the door,
I played the speaker, sippin' a Kahlua,
Saw this bad bitch wit a switch and, yo, I had to step to her
In a manner, and rather wished the current was warm,
When I had reached her, I looked and knew the shit was on.
Peace, excuse me, allow to introduce myself,
Yo, I'm the man, and, honey, you've been rated top shelf.
Yo, what's your name, hon? Hair wrapped up in a bun,
Your eyes sparkle just like glass in the sun,
Never diss 'em, it's hard for a nigga just to miss 'em,
Especially, when you're browsin', going fishin'.
Your waistline bangin' like a bassline,
Physical form is well complex,
And, yo, I love your outline, boo,
Your whole body is wild, with your rugged profile
Enough to make a hard rock smile.
You can't strike out, tell me what can really go wrong,
You're rockin' labels – Tommy Hil, down to Claiborne,
Show me some love, hon, show me some love, boo,
Show me the vibe and I'll be more than glad to shoot it through!
Ayo peep it, I know you love Victoria's Secret,
And lovin' all the marvelous slang on how I freak it,
Plus, see you're the type to make a nigga crash,
Far from trash, your flesh is way softer than a baby's ass,
Your body lotion is the potion,
The shit got me open like dust and, yo, your stee is Thai potent, yo!
We can go the distance, I put you under wings,
From this convo, we can spark and see whatever brings,
I walked the hot Arabian desert barefooted,
I grabbed your hand, you grabbed my joint and knew where to put it.
Word up, yo, straight up and down, yo!
Check the joint, baby,
It be the Wu-Tang production!
Yeah, yeah, and all types of shit, and brothers catchin' repercussions,
Yo, straight up!
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