Hitman for Hire

[Red Cafe]<br>Want a hit?<br>Gimme an hour plus a pen and a pad<br>Now when go down.. y`allll<br>Who won`t stop it?<br>When them things get cocked who won`t pop it?<br>Who`s trying to slow down the quick come up?<br>Of a hitman, what wha what what<br><br>[Verse - Malice]<br>You can tell by the walk and by how the chain swing<br>Got the kinda money most niggaz ain`t seen<br>Most niggaz never pushed that machine<br>With 350 plus of pure horse power<br>And the fact that I push pure powder<br>To the point of no return is something I ain`t proud of<br>Let the plush jewels symbolize the love<br>For the karats on the wrist I tend to spend just because<br>My life no less a dream at best<br>Lured her loving from London from where the Queen rests<br>Pimpish me took her straight to Mickey D`s<br>When she ordered her Royal wit cheese<br>Shit, my whole clique pop Cristal wit ease<br>And pop pistols wit even more ease<br>Shit, we do the shit that you can`t conceive<br>And I would hate having your mother grieve, motherfucker!<br><br>[Chorus]<br>[Clipse:] I`m a hitman for hire<br>[R Cafe:] You want work put in I`ll have that work put in<br>[Clipse:] I`m a hitman for hire<br>[R Cafe:] You lookin for a gangsta, I`m a gangsta<br>[Clipse:] I`m a hitman for hire<br>[R Cafe:] I handle my business, you don`t like me handle your business<br>[Clipse:] I`m a hitman for hire<br>[R Cafe:] You lookin for a gangsta, I`m a gangsta<br><br>[Verse - Red Cafe]<br>Uh, the boss of my days is back playa<br>Talk greazy, we don`t call it rap playa<br>Easy, Izzah they say I`m special<br>They like the seven but, love me in that S Coupe<br>My boxes used to have horses, aight<br>Now I`m soaking the Boxster Porsches, aight<br>Got princess cut in my crosses, aight<br>Enough to make them coppers nauseous aight<br>Now I been shot in the neck, that was almost fatal<br>Now I`m the Shoot-a-Homie never under the navel<br>I`m in they hood like illegal cable<br>Shakedown, 911`s a joke in my town<br>I`m bitch-nigga proof, 180 proof, liquor proof<br>I got to make a nigga disappear, trigger poof!<br>Coach said I wasn`t good wit my jumpshot<br>So I get upclose when I`m bucking my toast, Izzah!<br><br>[Chorus]<br><br>[Verse - Pusha T]<br>Big city rolla, pind diamond rose gold<br>Like strawberry Quik was spilled on his shoulder<br>EGHCK! all soldier, top shots out chrome glocks<br>Keep gun coupled, ghetto version of Noah<br>He will make your soul float, fuck wit the next man<br>In this hand I got the tool for making ghosts<br>Beats to the corner, Ben Wallace in the post<br>I send ya to the place where the coroners ya host EGHCK!<br>Not living, I`d rather be choking off fumes in someones kitchen<br>Counting money, but these niggaz won`t keep their distance<br>So I let these nines assist them<br>See my - presence covers the block like a duvet<br>Haters trying to guess what you weigh<br>Pusha gives a fuck what you say<br>I make corners tumble like Cirque du Soleil<br><br>[Chorus]<br><br>[Outro - Pusha T]<br>Uh yeah, Track Masters<br>Shakedown, Red Cafe wit the Clipse<br>Uh uh, yeah, we them hitmen for hire