Styles P - The Banjo lyrics

[Verse 1: Royce Da 5'9] Die, b**h, die, hoe New God flow, no I go Diablo, why, hoe? Why, b**h, do time tick? Think about it, you die slow If not you die quick I'm sicker than Theraflu Wickeder than a kick over headstone Sippin' on redrum After I'm finished just swimmin' inside of the dead pool After I'm finished just inflictin' on the guy a despicable head wound Nothin' is important, but to import tons On my fourth run while I'm eatin' lunch with my forked tongue I swing this motherf**in' barrel loose I don't f** with knives, n***a, I'm set out noose Y'all n***as call the police on my people regardless Rock a bye with my piece then call it Keisha in Harlem I'm the highest of all beings, my eye is the all-seeing Dribblin' fireballs with lion paws for my audience [Hook: Royce Da 5'9"] What if the Devil played the banjo? What if he invited you out on the dance floor? There's one of six million different ways this can go [Verse 2: Westside Gunn & Conway] Ayo, your fishscale Fisher-Price First shot k**ed a n***a, but I hit him twice My trigger finger itchin' like it was lice Sent the white in a pot with the ice, whipped it nice Hurricane whipped the whole slag Fiend hit the gla**, hit his a**, you know the math I toe tag me a n***a, you know I spaz I throw a bag to my young n***a, he'll get it over fast G-wag, 24 karat Silencer on the Mac 12, you ain't even hear it Lightning strikin' on the [?] f** n***a don't get embarra**ed f** your two [?] out in Paris b**h n***a, your life, you better cherish Ten shooters show up to your show just to air it Griselda, the dinner place swingin' Body in the Bentley truck, sh** reakin' [Hook: Royce Da 5'9"] What if the Devil played the banjo? What if he invited you out on the dance floor? There's one of six million different ways this can go (So go fast) [Verse 3: Styles P] Eyes are the windows to the soul, what your secret is? Once had to battle the reaper, and I ethered him No tellin' what I'll sing on the mic, he got reefer in 'em Ghost guts, I can see a ghost, and speak to 'em Buildin' with the dead like every other night And I never write a rhyme, I recite my other life You thinkin' this a verse, but it's more of a testimonial So flow, up in the zone, only the lonely know Thinkin' I'm geekin', but I'm reachin' my dead homies, though Told 5'9 if I have a nine to five I'll line rappers with the nine and rob em five times Every day, seven days a week, call it crime time or Thirty-five licks, n***a, that's a prime rhyme Fightin' Bruce Lee's demon, but I'm agin' like fine wine You don't understand me Cause you don't stand under the code that mean family Ghost is uncanny [Hook: Royce Da 5'9] What if the Devil played the banjo? What if he invited you out on the dance floor? There's one of six million different ways this can go