Mathematics - Mighty Healthy lyrics

[Intro: sample] - My God, so they are k**ers I've heard lots of people say once a man's a k**er, they just keep On k**ing and k**ing; they sort of develop a taste for blood - Yeah, that's right. They k** one man, or k** ten It's all the same (yes). After all, they can only hang you once [Verse 1: Ghostface k**ah] Both hands clusty, chilling with my man Rusty Low down, blew off the burner kinda dusty The world can't touch Ghost, purple tape, Rae co-host Monty Hall expo, intellect, you read pro Son trifling f**, wildflower on the cycle and Picked up the broom thought I was Michael-in' West Brighton Pool, now I'm into Iron Duels Turn Nuns to Earths Whoopi, she at Allah school Inhale break beats of hell A-Alikes propel parallel Duracell knot, you flash a burnt cell Snap out of CandyLand kids, the old rumor is Blacks become immune and sh**, we never did Like eating dead birds, trust the pharmacy over herbs Men marrying men, ill they got the urge, pulsar Scissor hand wig vanished in the winter, living off land You god damn right I f** fans, king me Check checkmate props like the micro chip founder Neck to neck stock with Bill Gates now [Bridge] When we hug these mics we get busy Come and have a good time with G-O-D Make you snap your fingers or wiggle Scream, shout, laugh or just giggle Shake that body, party that body Don't f** with Ghost you'll feel sorry That's word, I'm not the herb Understand what I'm saying, saying, saying [Verse 2: Ghostface k**ah] Hit mics like Ted Koppel, rifle expert Let off the Eiffel, burn a flag in your gra**, spiteful Ringleader set it off, rap Derek Jeter Culprit, prince of the game wish you could see us We lay low glitter wax full bangles Priceless ropes, lay around the God get tangled Woolly hair, eyes fiery red, feet made of bra** Twelve men following me, it be the God staff Move, every script's like Miramax Smash the big boy, totalled it, Wilshire and Fairfax Son beaming wifey on the beach, sipping Zima Wu 'binos, to latinos, we love Selena Overnight, God schedules, Fed-Ex Pretty soloette velvet nice DNA scroll genetics Too hot, to handle one thought from scrambling the mandolin Hundred game Wilt Chamberlain, smack 'em, say when He rolling up, face wrinkled up, hands is on his nuts Yo kid stop fronting on the ground 'fore you get touched It's Canada Dry sess with Allah, son We want rye, we want it so bad we might cry [Outro] For every blow, depends on breath control So it's the first thing you must learn Fortunately it's easy You'll soon learn My God so they are k**ers k**ing and k**ing They sort of develop a taste for blood