Stella

[Verse 1 - Ghostface Killah] Stay dip, cute bitch out in Delaware, moving our bricks So hard, stupid big stones from Miss Stella ear She just turn 35, we in the spot on Martin Luther King Drive Whole team getting high, on phones We learned different codes of pig Latin So the jakes don’t follow our trail with sick patterns And the crib is jig, Jennifer convertible love seat That’s worth forty G’s from Madrid In Spain, sipping cherry Cosmo’s and things Stella, finish the glass, showing niggas her rings I said bitch, I ain’t impressed with that Why the fuck is every briefcase short by at least ten stacks We had a mil' in each bag, there’s eighty grand missing You pop up with a new Jag', with a bad system I done sent your ass to Hawaii and Waikiki When your man needed bail, you’ll come see me Rob me? That’s how we do? You pretty slick muthafucka You must think I’m a sucker Matter fact, you gon' suck this dick, how bout that for a change Let me see what’s really on your brain She said ‘Starkey, you violating me, stop it' I saved up for this shit, you playing me like a hostage Out of all people, I wheeled you around, when you got shot Be the closest one too you, and may I rot In hell, yo Starks, chill, I don’t think she that stupid Since '90, '95, she came through, kid Two million in six weeks, cover six space Just to think of those towns alone, we brought a big steak [Verse 2 - Sheek Louch] But it still don’t change the job Aiyo, Tone, who this silly bitch trynna rob Niggas been getting money, since pushing a Saeb In the spot writing rhymes, never heard of a blog Is it that coincidental? That the same rental Be out in Virginia and DC, before she come see me I’m ready, put this hammer in her face in 3D I know that’s your home girl, but fuck it, on GP And I don’t like her brother, either, he probably put her up to it Give me the word and I go empty his fluid Shady? I been bagging up since 1980 Me and Ghost been tight, since Fred met Grady, lady So what you telling me? My account is off? Oh you must really motherfucking think we that damn soft [Verse 3 - Method Man] Hold on, yo, Sheek, what you gon' do? Cut her whole hand off? Put a pillow over her face, and let the four bang off? Or we can get the gat taping so the ho can’t talk Before we get the whole story cut this whole thing short I don’t think that’s wise at all, whatever honey do with her money, dog That’s not my problem, why is it yours? Wu-Block, you riding for mine, I’m riding for yours That’s the motto if you talking bout homicide, my lord It’s survival, homey, you ain’t never lied, my lord But the Pretty Toney baby ain’t never lied before That’s a hundred lucci, word to Bully, I smoke too many loosies I know her history, if something fishy, must be the coochie It ain’t no mystery, your finger itchy, if she a groupie Once you go up, once you go down, let’s keep it Gucci You take her head, I take all the jewelry from all these moolies Get all your goonies, and we can meet up for Call of Duty Ain’t nothing funny like Paul Mooney, this fatal beauty Got some explaining to do, hold up, I thought you knew me Better than that, we know the cheddar was tapped You getting bread in the trap, why get in bed with them rats My son is missing some racks, and Louch is fitting to snap She need to come up with answers, instead of fixing her mack Makeup, just give the facts, straight up, and just the facts If you did it, we gon' bury you with it, and that’s that