Mighty Healthy Lyrics - Supreme Clientele - Ghostface Killah

INTRO: 

-My God, so they are killers. 

I've heard lots of people say once a man's a killer, they just keep 

on killing and killing; they sort of develop a taste for blood. 

-Yeah, that's right. They kill one man, or kill ten, 

it's all the same (yes). After all, THEY CAN ONLY HANG YOU ONCE. 

VERSE 1: 

Both hands clusty, chillin' wit 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 red pro 

Son triflin fuck, wildflower on the cyclin 

Pick up the brew thought I was Michael an' 

Mics are writin' pool, now, I'm into Iron Duals 

Turn-ons the Earth's whoopee, she out of law school 

In hale break beats of hell A-Alikes propel parallel 

Duracell night, you flash a burnt cell 

Snap out of CandyLand, kids the old rumor is 

blacks become immune to shit, we never did like 

eati' dead birds chose the pharmacy over herbs 

Men marryin men, ill they got the herbs pulsar 

Scissor hand wig vanished in the winter 

Livin' off land you god damn right I fuck fans king me 

Check checkmate props like the micro chip founder 

Neck to neck stocks with Bill Gates now 

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CHORUS: 

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 and just giggle 

Shake that body, party that body 

Don't fuck with Ghost you'll feel sorry 

That's word, I'm not the herb 

Understand what I'm sayin' (echo) 

VERSE 2: 

Hit mics like Ted Koppel, rifle expert 

Let off the Eiffel, burn a flag in the grass it's 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 rolls, lay around the God get tangled 

Woolly hair, eyes firey red, feet made of brass 

Twelve men, following me, it be the God staff 

Move, every script's like Miramax 

Smash the big boy totalled it, will shot fear effects 

Son beamin' wifee on the beach, sippin' Zima 

Wu 'binos, to latinos, we bust Selena 

Over night, God schedules, fed ex 

Pretty soloette velvet nice DNA scroll genetics 

Too hot, to handle one thought scramblin the mandolin 

Hundred game Wilt Chamberlain, smack em, say when 

He rollin up, face wrinkled up, hands is on his nuts 

Yo kid stop frontin' on the ground before you get touched 

It's Canada Dry sess, obsessed with Allah's sun 

We want rye, we want it so bad we might cry 

Photos 

-What we do, 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 killers 

- Killing and killing, they sort of develop a taste for blood