Krumb Snatcha - Thorough lyrics

[Intro: Krumbsnatcha] Just in case y'all n***as ain't understand what the f**'s poppin' Wolves, Theodore Unit, hey! That's how we doing it baby, yo [Krumbsnatcha] Rap's pharaoh in the latest apparrel Plus out my barrel, bullets fly like a sparrow Supermen brother, I'm strong and narrow One word in my herd, bring more beef than cattle Ghost past the toast, Solomon you follow him Let me splat, and we dump him up in Staten This ain't rapping, it's quiet law It don't take too much to meet your eye of God I'm from Boston, we don't spill no beans It's rather infrared beams, in the myst of your team Now, Lean Back, like Joe, then riddle When I hold the semi, spit 'moore' than Demi Cold and deadly, take the soul of any Whether, young or dumb, or you old and petty Ready, on your mark, set, go Let your double ends up tight, boy, now let's go Eyes wide, mouth foaming, start stere' All you see is, Boston and Park Hill [Chorus 2X: Krumbsnatcha, Solomon Childs] I thought y'all knew How we move, always carry the tool If I don't win, you lose, thorough In every borough, chasing paper, we ain't f**ing with you Try'nna eat? Here's something I drew [Ghostface k**ah] Let's go, yo we guzzle like forty cases Don Perignon bottles, broke in mad places Bathtubs that never been touched, we f**ed in 'em Ran trains on b**hes, with condoms, Stark up, any tuck That's right, if my gun empty, my bop get bigger You see the bigger bulge in the leg of the Hillfig' n***a The streets is dark, standing from the car, shoot at the NARC's They dead meat, you see they technique, rolling through parks There, if I gotta tell you about a real rap tale Plants, cocoa leaves, tree popo beef, blow ya face off Just to see what's underneath, bet you I do it Give me five, I can rap to it Stuck a ratchet to ya sister, like move it This is Tone, yo, I'm f**ing with a real Unit And your brother was a real informant, I kinda like you You got a fat a**, how can I see you in the G4 [Chorus 2X] [Solomon Childs] Burners, corrupt boulevards TNT mark cars, bullets in the garage Blitz, bank truck explosions Soldiers hit, chronic in the ice cream truck Big bucks, twenty two's on them Tonka trucks When the going get tough, the tough get going No pain, no gain, the game's still the same Staten Island, New York, fifty hits Bullets just appearing out of the clips Black ghetto magic, abracadabra You could talk that military sh**, it don't matter Strike the shepherd and the sheep will scatter Back by popular demand, Sara Lee cakes and yellow capri's Maybeline b**h with the steams Lieutenant Solomon Childs of the Theodore Two thousand and four Commodore, come on [Chorus 2X] [Outro: Krumbsnatcha] Knowhatimsayinn, Krumbsnatcha, Ghostface Holla... my n***a Solomon Childs, hey Wu-Tang, hey, Boston... Out for you n***a, hahahaha Nottz you k**ing these n***as on the beats God, you need to stop it, kid... haha We at it again... one