"The Champ" lyrics - GHOSTFACE KILLAH

[Intro: Man's Voice]
This guy is a bulldozer with a wrecking ball attached
He'll leave a ring around your eye and tread marks on your back
He's an animal, he's hungry
You ain't been hungry, since "Supreme Clientele"
Remember what you first told me when I took ya in
You wanted to be a fighter (Yeah!)
You wanted to be a killer (New York Stand Up)
You wanted to be the Champ! (Got your boy in the booth nigga)
You ain't hungry
Matter of fact I don't want you in my gym
Get out of my ring, you disgust me

"Just Blaze!"

Godzilla bankroll, stones from Sierra Leone
Yo I ain't got it all, that means I'm barely home
Trailblazer stay balling with vengeance
My arts is crafty darts, why y'all stuck on Laffy Taffy?
Wondering, how did y'all niggas get past me?
I been doing this before Nas dropped the Nasty
My Wallos I did 'em up, them bricks I sent 'em up
My raps y'all bit 'em up, for that now stick 'em up
10-4 good buddy, Tone got his money up
Worth millions, still bag your bitch looking bummy what
Y'all staring at the angel of death
Liar liar pants on fire, you burning up like David Koresh
This is architect music, verbal street opera
Pop a Tec mad fluid, got the projects booming indeed
I ran through the Tunnel, terrorized speed
That's when I was still in the jungle, slinging that D

*bell rings*

Who want to battle the Don?
I'm James Bond in the Octagon with two razors
Bet y'all didn't know I had a fake arm
I lost it, wild and raw before rap, I was gettin' it on
Took a fat nigga out in like 40 seconds
My gun get hard wit a 45 steel erection
Eagle on, Kangol half-slanted, Coconut Ballys from Morocco
Guerilla medallions like Flavor Flav clock yo
Niggas want me dead but they scared to step to me
Rip they guts out like a hysterectomy
When beef collide look on the flip by the penitentiary kite
Or get you bumped off from the inside
Jaws is hanging
Frauds is left in they draws on the floor complaining
Bird ass nigga resemble Keenan Ivory Wayans
Stay in your place dirt poor rappers get shadow boxed for training
Y'all still eating bacon

*bell rings*

I'm like the deuce of diamonds cutting spades on a glass table
Half a mil' on my left ankle
Terrycloth Guess shorts, robes is comfortable
Bring me a nice bitch, that means I'll fuck with you
My swagger is Mick Jagger, 'stones' is 'rolling'
Prestige is cut to a T, spark when weed went up
The coca leaf is slightly damp
Sprouting in the backyard next to Gram Dukes' tomato plants
And jets get chartered, marquee shit with the cars on it
The haters, they earl, run to the toilet and vomit
Back East, I'm a MC king since Cuban
Pretty Tone, Iron Man, Bulletproof and Supreme
Kufi on, double deuce in the jeans
My man shape was on the floor with the mother lode, both of them green
IBF, WBC, cruiserweight, title shots, and rap belts belong to D.C