260 (feat. Raekwon)

Yeah, scandalous

Yeah, miraculous, the arsonist

Yo, kick down the door in the spot, 260

2L, I heard they had O's for sale

I heard the same shit, money drive a burgundy whip

Keep a low fade, his license plate is engraved "Paid"

Where's the cat from? Thinkin' he's from New Jerusalem

Pretty Rick did his thing for him but he was usin' him

Boss son's younger physical, you know the God

He go with tip, the one who called lover of God

Y equality self, I know the Master Allah now

It's time to get the God U and blow like mines

But on the low I heard he got born original sin

Back in the drive through, Kentucky Fried, shot up his Ac'

We gotta get him done, aliens are snatchin' our bread

UFO's movin' in with bigger plans than feds, yo

Knock on daddy O's door, get the scope

He's not home, he took Ishmael to Park Slope

There go the the dreads, yo, swindle two bags of that skunk

That get you crashed out, had you laid out like bums

Peace, Kiana, what's up with your girlfriend Wanda?

She drive a cream Honda with legs like Jane Fonda

I just left her, she took Regine to Pathmark then

Jetted to Canal to get her man some Clarks

She should be back in ninety minutes, Ghostface

God forbid she safe, BCW was watchin' the kids

Two hours later, scheming like DeNiro in Casino

Son better have more coke than Al Pacino

Kiana ain't tellin' no lies, last year she did a sting and a half

With Tymeek, bought him a aircraft

But anyway, yo, daddy O home, we need the shotty's now

When we get back, throw you a third out

Later that night stayed mesmerized, yo

Go get the {P/green} five, meet you on the corner of now why

You ready, you got the E&J and the machete?

We goin' upstairs, I hope one ****'s heavy

We walked in, both of us looked like terrorists

Mask on, second floor, done, yo, I handle this

Kick in the crib, the whole shit looked graphical

Natural, fuckin' a white bitch, actual

Fiends chanting "Do your thing, Chef, handle it"

I shot him in the neck, it ricocheted and hit Carolyn

Ran to the back, analyzing, much disguising

Surprise is coming in their eyes and tranquilized and bugging

Throwing the twin cousins at his nugget, fuck it

Meet shotty-waddy, slug body hobby

Where the drugs? Where the ounces you be bouncin'?

Fake cats annoucin' on the block, you loungin'

Where the blow at? I ain't got shit, stop frontin'

Yo, Chef, throw the joint in his mouth, money'll stop stuntin'

Bitch, hold that pit before I push your wig back

Chef, stop wavin' that, show 'em where the paper at

Come here Valerie, you know the God, he need his salary

Put down the pipe, here's two tickets to a coke gallery

It's in the kitchen and the ceilin'

Baby girl kept squealin', only found a white block of cheese

from New Zealand, oh, shit

Yo, yo, where that shit at, yo?

Yo, Chef, where that shit, what?