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Styles P » Star Of The State
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	[Intro: Styles P (Ghostface)] Yo Vinny Idol, what do you call under the underground? (Twin Ghost Experience!) YEAH! (Styles P:) From a hood where niggaz is miserable Either gon' dead you or leave you in critical Niggaz talkin money then show me the visual And then stand right there and get plucked like a chicken feather Stickin up the stick-up kids, nigga I'm sick as ever The gun is my bitch, and I bet you we stick together Stuck like two dogs fuckin You must be ready to die, fuckin with me like, you want somethin Ring your bell and I have you like "Who call? " Smack you with a bat like Pujols, bottom of the ninth You don't wanna see me at the bottom of the pint Rowdy, be outtie cause I'm a problem for the night Problem for your life, leg or arm missin I can step it up, have you doubt or your mom missin S.P. the Ghost and I'm trom' hittin Arm kickin anytime I'm spittin nigga just like a bomb hittin [Chorus: Styles P (Ghostface)] Somebody food gettin ate (gettin ate, yeah) Somebody gettin robbed for they plate (for they plate nigga) You know I go hard for the cake When it come to bein hard, I'm the star of the state (nigga what) I'm the star - somebody food gettin ate (food gettin ate, gettin ate) Somebody gettin robbed for they plate (robbed for they plate motherfucker) You know I go hard for the cake (it's the Twin Ghost Experience!) When it come to bein hard, I'm the star of the state I'm the star (Ghostface Killah:) Yo, yo, yo I'm a tell you how we do on the Island Squeeze your girl ass, now what, knock your punk ass off balance You can't come through Mickey D's, no burger no cheese Find your head missin, do you still want the #3? +Big Mac+, large order of 9's, no shake, we got shells Pissin on y'all bitches like R. Kell's And more or less staple your balls together And light you in kerosene, melt your whole face in your sweater You see the rubber gloves, thugs Nervous doctors play in the E.R., still wind up pullin the plug Cause it's a Twin Ghost Experience, flesh and spirit We bang, even the dead listen to deadly lyrics Make Big turn in his grave, even 'Pac can hear it Cochran, on Dirt's death, yo they tryin to appeal it But fuck that, all we want is the crack, the cash in bags Come through heavy, you might get yapped; motherfucker! (chorus) (Styles P:) A lot of niggaz hoped I would die young Pitched in the hood hard, want me to Cy Young Real sharp words, guess I got me a fly tongue Always get high cause I feel high-strung I don't buy jewels, I buy haze and I buy guns Or they "hear me now" like the dude from Verizon Look at my eyes son, you won't see the next horizon Kickin that typical rap, despicable rap Or to get a hawk in your face, clip in your back Guess who, still keep the thing in the sweatsuit Hot blood leakin out your face is the best soup Food in the kitchen nigga, shit in the restroom Wreck when it's wreck time, S.P. the Ghost is five star Orders to the death when I rep mine King and the queen die, just like chess time If I don't kill you now I'll catch yo' ass next time (chorus)
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