Passion of the Christ

[Intro: Solomon Childs] Uh-huh, Theodore murder music Uncle Tony, Trife Dilly, yeah Tommy Whispers, Kryme, Wiganomics The homey Richmond Slim The most shady, Solly baby, yeah [Solomon Childs] These muthafuckas in the world today, if you let 'em 'll take everything you got, then run off to the police When you hit 'em over the head with a cinder block Just touch down, live, from Catsacky, New York Did it for dolo, had no kind of backing up north When them Germans was try'nna kill me up north Give me control or die slow Shit, you could choke on the gun smoke, but he Loved by few, hated by many, S. Childs New York City's president Aristene Rap music, at it's highest militance Salvage no wounds, bitch bleed Body Brighton, Cobra Task Force Intelligence To the wolves, we feed, let's see who really Ready for what the boy got cooking Plans big as real estate, I'm on the cocaine harvest The size of Brooklyn, turmoil, torture Like the Theodore, put stool softener, in your chopped meat Or haunt the kids like Uncle Pete in Soul Food The renaissance, muthafuckas is fooled [Chorus: Solomon Childs] This dedicated to my niggas, killas With money, like late night thrillers This dedicated to my niggas... This dedicated to my niggas, old school top billers That'll stomp ya head out, like wild gorillas This dedicated to my niggas... [Solomon Childs] That's the problem, niggas don't want you 'em till it's too late And it's blood on your Superman cape Why it gotta be games I'm playing? Is it cuz I ain't telling you these feelings From behind bars, you don't understand what I'm saying Mad at the style I got, what is it, homey? Shit, when I was young, I told a lotta lies Nowawadays whatever I speak applies Not only new found, the king of New York Alert red, blood on the boardwalk You muthafuckas ain't throwing it up Stop wearing my colors, and if you product's garbage Stop yelling around the hood you got the butters Godbodies look at my eyes and say that I resemble the Mecca From how my actions and voice is gon' lead And run through the frontline like Julius Peppers How can I not be in the form of God? My little man was born in the Saddam wars Praise due Allah, that they salvage the savage Cocaine and guns be a boulevard marriage Chase the Hennessey with cause The streets is real, death if you pause No time to live acts, get put on your back Muthafucka... [Chorus: Solomon Childs] This dedicated to my niggas, ridin' With illegal registration stickers Construction Timbs, Cuban Linx and chinchillas This dedicated to my niggas... [Solomon Childs] Yeah, turn my mic up... yeah.. My ancenstors was dragon slayers, cold hearted Sharp like crocodiles teeth, sasquatch, you big for nothing We don't want beef, the smell of gun powder in the hood Make the temperature rise, fear to have you feel, like BD, stylist And Mike Kelly was alive, speak up If I'm not the head of Staten Island, if not, I want silence Cuz if it don't make 'cents', it don't make dollars I want blood, like Biggie's mother Ms. Wallace What you know about sleeping with death, living with death Dreaming of death, semi-automatic cannons on the right and the left Ghetto poem lister, that captivate your mind, body & soul Like MacBeth, face it, this something that you gotta accept Anything over the middle be bound to intercept [Outro: Solomon Childs] That's right... Theodore, muthafucka Who got this in a headlock, man? Staten Island, B-Town, Broadway & Henderson Lights on, nigga...