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 [U-God] 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