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Artist: Ghostface Killah f/ Inspectah Deck, Killa Sin, Masta Killa, U-God
Album:  Adrian Younge presents Twelve Reasons to Die
Song:   Murder Spree
Typed by: Cno Evil

[Ghostface Killah]
Yo, there's a dozen ways to die, six million ways to do it
Let's go through it, my mind flow like fluid
Torture, chop your legs off, thrown off the boat
Guillotine nigga, one chop to the throat
Suffocation, Saran wrappin' your face
Buried alive, throw a few nails in the case
Manslaughter, eight degrees of separation
Leave your body chopped up into pieces, that's mutilation

[Inspectah Deck]
Six million ways to die, cyanide
In your drink, catch a Cuban necktie for your mink
Donna style, cut up and stuffed in the fridge
Or maybe washed up ashore, found under the bridge
Hit him with the whip, drag him half a block
Machete on the sock, pull the padlocks
Chainsaw, switch your medication
Stomp a nigga out til he one with the pavement

[Masta Killa]
Torture, he's brutally beaten at the meeting
Suspicions of him being a rat, even worse then cheating
I'm cold reading, them ice picks, rats in sticks and closed fists
Brass knuckles, steel toe kicks
Cracked ribs, punctured lungs, hard breathing
He's gasping and reaching for air, his breath, he can't catch
He clinches the shirt on his chest, in a dying effort
To reveal his last will, before he was killed

First things first, I chop the head, then your fingertips
Put the knife in torso, chop up your ligaments
Make sure it's legitimate, conceal all my fingerprints
Chop shop the body up, quick, then get rid of it
A hole in the desert, body bag, just fill the ditch
Your miss was a snitch, too? Shotgun, kill the bitch
Leave her in the wilderness, suffocate and scarred up
Your brother want war too? Blow his fucking car up

[Killa Sin]
I live a Homicide City, murder mystery, officially
Don't reach your fucking history, broke bones, missing teeth
Full blown to smithereens, brains on the triple beam
Bald top and chopped up, my buckets are Mr. Clean
Clorox, and this pristine, will sterilize the whole scene
Photograph your death so I could spread it to your whole team
No one leave a trace of evidence for the case
The sinister to finish shit, it was the man with no face

[Masta Killa]
Red wine and pink veal, unknowingly
That this would be his last meal, cut the boys, made the field
Six inch stiletto heel, kept his refills filled
Titties like Big Ann, stepping steel for the real deal
Hit-men from Brooklyn, Tommy gun specialists
And one accomplice, sip Courvoisier at the car
Been waiting til she lit the cigar, then she wave
And set a wine glass, he late, he never saw it coming

[Ghostface Killah]
Murder one, bullets rip fast through the flesh
I cock the sawed off shotty, put a hole in your chest
Blow your lungs out, I seen you been smoking for years
You got no heart, I hunt you down like Cape Fear
Push your brains out the back of your hat, blow off your hands
Leave your body in the dumpster, head in the trash can
Cell catch the scene, look clean as a whistle
Ghost carve through your skin tissue, to the bone gristle