[Ghostface Killah:]
Yeah, 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 up, 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 in a piece, that's mutilation.
[Inspectah Deck:]
Six million ways to die, cyanide in your drink,
Catch a Cuban necktie for your mink,
Dahmer style, cut up and stuffed in the fridge,
And maybe washed up ashore and found under the bridge.
Hit him with the whip, drag him half a block,
Machete or the sock full of padlocks,
Chainsaw, switch your medication,
Stomp a nigga out till he one with the pavement.
[Masta Killa:]
Torture, he's gruely peekin' at the meeting,
Suspicions of him bein' a rat? Even worse than cheating.
I'm cold reakin' of ice picks, scratch and sticks and closed fists,
Brass knuckle, steel toe kicks,
Cracked ribs, punctured lungs, hard breathing,
He's gaspin' and wheezin' 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 your head to your fingertips,
Butcher knife your torso, chop up your ligaments,
Make sure it's legitimate, conceal all my fingerprints,
Chop, chop your body up quick then get rid of it,
A hole in the desert, body bag, just polluted it.
Your miss was a snitch, too? Shotgun killed the bitch,
Leave her in the wilderness, suffocated and scarred up,
Your brother want more too, blow his fuckin' car up!
[Killa Sin:]
Another homicide city, murder mystery efficiently,
Delete your fuckin' history, broke bone, missin' teeth,
Throw bones, it's slippery, brings on the triple beam,
All topped and chopped up, my luck is a Mr. Clean,
Clorox and vicious steam sterilized the whole scene,
Photograph your death so I can spread it to your whole team,
Won't leave a trace of evidence for the case,
It's sinister to finish it, hit with the man with no face.
[Masta Killa:]
Red wine and pink veal,
Unknowin' that this would be his last meal,
Comfortable he's made to feel, six inch stiletto heel,
Kept his refills filled,
Titties like big ass, kept him still for the real deal,
Hitman from Brooklyn, Tommy gun specialist,
Our one accomplice, sipped Courvoisier at the bar,
Then waited till she lit a cigar,
Then sprayed,
In shattered wine glass he lay, he never saw it comin'.
[Ghostface Killah:]
Yo, murder one, bullets went fast through the flesh,
I cocked the sawed off shotty, put a hole in your chest,
Blow your lungs out, I've seen you been smokin' for years,
You got no heart, I'll hunt you down like Cape Fear,
Push your brains out the back of your head, blow off your hands,
Leave your body in a dumpster, head in the trashcan,
Cell catching scene look clean as a whistle,
Ghost carved through your skin tissue till the bone gristle.