Thorough - Solomon Childs, Ghostface Killah, Krumbsnatcha

Just in case y’all niggaz ain’t understand what the fuck’s poppin'*

Wolves, Theodore Unit, hey!

That’s how we doing it baby, yo

Rap’s pharaoh in the latest apparrel

Plus out my barrel, bullets fly like a sparrow

Supermen brother, I’m strong and narrow

One word in my herd, bring more beef than cattle

Ghost past the toast, Solomon you follow him

Let me splat, and we dump him up in Staten

This ain’t rapping, it’s quiet law

It don’t take too much to meet your eye of God

I’m from Boston, we don’t spill no beans

It’s rather infrared beams, in the myst of your team

Now, Lean Back, like Joe, then riddle

When I hold the semi, spit 'moore'than Demi

Cold and deadly, take the soul of any

Whether, young or dumb, or you old and petty

Ready, on your mark, set, go

Let your double ends up tight, boy, now let’s go

Eyes wide, mouth foaming, start stere'

All you see is, Boston and Park Hill

I thought y’all knew

How we move, always carry the tool

If I don’t win, you lose, thorough

In every borough, chasing paper, we ain’t fucking with you

Try’nna eat?

Here’s something I drew

Let’s go, yo we guzzle like forty cases

Don Perignon bottles, broke in mad places

Bathtubs that never been touched, we fucked in 'em

Ran trains on bitches, with condoms, Stark up, any tuck

That’s right, if my gun empty, my bop get bigger

You see the bigger bulge in the leg of the Hillfig’nigga

The streets is dark, standing from the car, shoot at the NARC’s

They dead meat, you see they technique, rolling through parks

There, if I gotta tell you about a real rap tale

Plants, cocoa leaves, tree popo beef, blow ya face off

Just to see what’s underneath, bet you I do it

Give me five, I can rap to it

Stuck a ratchet to ya sister, like move it

This is Tone, yo, I’m fucking with a real Unit

And your brother was a real informant, I kinda like you

You got a fat ass, how can I see you in the G4

Burners, corrupt boulevards

TNT mark cars, bullets in the garage

Blitz, bank truck explosions

Soldiers hit, chronic in the ice cream truck

Big bucks, twenty two’s on them Tonka trucks

When the going get tough, the tough get going

No pain, no gain, the game’s still the same

Staten Island, New York, fifty hits

Bullets just appearing out of the clips

Black ghetto magic, abracadabra

You could talk that military shit, it don’t matter

Strike the shepherd and the sheep will scatter

Back by popular demand, Sara Lee cakes and yellow capri’s

Maybeline bitch with the steams

Lieutenant Solomon Childs of the Theodore

Two thousand and four Commodore, come on

Knowhatimsayinn, Krumbsnatcha, Ghostface

Holla… my nigga Solomon Childs, hey

Wu-Tang, hey, Boston…

Out for you nigga, hahahaha

Nottz you killing these niggaz on the beats

God, you need to stop it, kid… haha

We at it again… one