Songtext 6 minutes Ghostface Killah

6 minutes

Ay, ay, Ghost-dini, wassup, nigga, ya heard?
Where them Killa Bees at?
When y'all was screaming Killa Bees I was running around with killer B's
Wu-Tang, throw them W's in the air, ya heard?
Wassup, nigga?
Ay, Chef, wassup, nigga, when you had that Purple Tape, I was cookin' up every day to that shit, nigga
Me and Cam, whip it, whip it, whip it, whip it

VIP, thirty bottles and a bad bitch
Smoke, coat heavy, that's the ratchet
Russian diamonds, the wrist sparkle like chandeliers
Photo shoots on glass roofs, come pull up a chair
I turn cameras out
I'm harder than steel luggage
Catch a flick of me
On your droid, the film won't develop
You heard?
I said the fuckin' film won't develop
Talkin' like you got style
I just came to sell it
Gray Clarks and plum robes, unexplainable
Got the club at a certain Fahrenheit, drainin' you
See me mean muggin'
I'm thinking 'bout flaming you
Even when I don't speak, I'm still entertaining you
Back of the club is where you find me
Surrounded by killers, with a bunch of women with very big heinies
Back of the club is where you find me
Two stepping, feeling like DeJ Loaf, dare you to try me

Six minutes, hit a lick
Six minutes, sold a brick
Six minutes, made it flip in six minutes
Six minutes, took your bitch
Six minutes, got you hit
Six minutes, my niggas rich, keep a stick
Six minutes, hit a lick
Six minutes, sold a brick
Six minutes, made it flip in six minutes
Six minutes, took your bitch
Six minutes, got you hit
Six minutes, my niggas rich, keep a stick

Six minutes, microwave shit, I'll cook a brick up
Shorty jumped straight in the whip and ate my dick up
Bullets hit him straight in his chest, that made him hiccup
niggas think they catchin' us slippin', we staying gripped up
She said "Oh, he got the cherry-red 8-50"
Shawty saw the ride, she decide that she gon' skate with me
Let Bobby know we in the drop, playing the late Whitney
Pardon me, y'all
You know I mean the great Whitney
Six minutes, Doug E. Fresh, you're on
Young lil' nigga just as fresh as the Fonz
I'm blowing up like a Saudi with a vest full of bombs
Well bitch, I'm feeling lucky, got a neck full of charms
Let me take you back to a place Five Eighths, where we sold birds
I'm talking after the Purple Tape, Ghostface with the gold bird
Sitting on his arm, and I was sitting on the bomb
Now the fiends know we got it, somebody ring the alarm, fucker

Six minutes, hit a lick
Six minutes, sold a brick
Six minutes, made it flip in six minutes
Six minutes, took your bitch
Six minutes, got you hit
Six minutes, my niggas rich, keep a stick
Six minutes, hit a lick
Six minutes, sold a brick
Six minutes, made it flip in six minutes
Six minutes, took your bitch
Six minutes, got you hit
Pretty Tony, I got them done
Six minutes, my niggas rich, keep a stick

Yo, ayo
No jewelry but six houses and six tenants
You clown niggas, how's that for my six minutes?
I don't like to chill, I get the bag and keep steppin'
Pistol license, nigga, I ain't gotta throw my weapon
That nigga ain't ya man, y'all ain't talk in years
His mom passed away, where the fuck is your tears?
You still live in the hood, where the fuck is the deers?
You on the 'Gram all day like, who the fuck cares?
And I'm smart enough to know that these hoes ain't loyal
You leave it out too long, all that food is gon' spoil
Your whole town is dry, I just came to sell the oil
Drop it in a pot and keep whippin' till it boil
Fuckboy, my bars got bonkers
Say what you want, but them niggas nice from Yonkers
It's all jokes until somebody get shot
Ayo Ghost, how much time they got?
Six minutes, nigga
Six minutes