Shes a Killah Lyrics by Ghostface Killah

  • Album Release Date: 2009
  • Features : {“Ron Browz”,”Shawn Wigs”}

[Intro: Ron Browz]
Ether Boy, Def Jam, Ghostface, Ron Browz
Oh, oh, oh

[Ghostface Killah]
It’s no special when them shots go down
You can catch one in the gut, and go down
The silencers work to muffle that sound
Snuck through tools and on the low down
Gangstas give it up, what
Big cups of Goose stay filled-it up, we stay four wheeled-it up
I would talk to shorty but her ass ain’t big enough
Her friends look like the type that’ll just give it up
From abyss to gecko, stay bumrushing them hoes like Joe Klecko
It’s hard to get a ticket like the Funkmaster Flex show
Even fat girls get twist into pretzels, Toney Starks special

[Hook: Ron Browz]
She’s a killer (oh) she’s a killer (oh)
She’s a killer, mami, you’se a killer
She’s a killer (oh) she’s a killer (oh)
She’s a killer, shorty, you’se a killer
Oh, hop in my four wheeler, oh, ain’t nobody realer
Oh, you got a man, I’mma steal ya, oh, my ice is iller
Yeah, we drinking Patron and, put your number in my phone and
Ain’t trying to take you home and, we partying to the morning
Oh, to the morning, oh, to the morning
Oh, to the morning, to, to the morning
Oh, to the morning, oh, to the morning
Oh, oh, we partying to the morning
[Ghostface Killah]
My co-defendant, her name’s Alexis
Niggas get caught up by the side of her breastses
She’ll murder you while eating your breakfast
You’ll die wanting to try how good her sex is
Baby’s shit wiggle like J-Lo, her thing so good
Before you hit it, you be having to pray, yo
Don’t wanna bust fast, best be on your J-O
She strictly dickly, don’t go both ways, yo
She independant and she fly
Bout 5’5, 5’6, bout yay high
Button-up pink boss shirt, blue necktie
Every nigga in the club wanna eat that thigh
Surprise she stay on her toes like a prized ballerina
She tight, her stomping grounds is out in Medina
This pretty thing handle her biz, she carry those things
Ready to die like she related to B.I.G


[Ghostface Killah] (Shawn Wigs)
Everybody’s acting like they killing the town
(Pardon me lord, I was sipping that brown)
This goes for the rappers, non-gun clappers
Yo, Wigs, get the cameras these is a bunch of actors (action)
Yet, my heat sing like Shirley Caesar
You can come test me at, your own leisure
I’m ballin’, gettin’ Arab money and I pop champagne
And go hit shorty, shaking that thang, cuz

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