The Hardest - AZ, Large Professor, Styles P

Yeah, its the Ghost SP

The G-O-D AZ

XP, it’s the Ghost SP

With the G-O-D AZ

SP, it’s the Ghost SP

With the G-O-D AZ

Hardest yeah, hardest

Yeah, it’s the hardest out

I’ma die for my cause, take the martyr route

Up North they talk about me when the yard is out

Can’t come through the hood on the mountain bike when cars is out

It’s the G-H-O-S-T, go in

I’m the P-H-A-N-T-O-M (Phantom)

Spit gems, blow him from his chin to his eyebrow

Trying to watching Beatstreet and Wildstyle

Get the feeling back

Whatever happen to realer rap?

Ask my man where the Tequila at

I’m from a hood where they peel ya cap

And you ain’t got a prize under

Word to the hoodie that my eyes under

Word to the hand that the gloves over

It’s all hate when the love’s over

Talk straight when a thug sober

But keep it quiet just shush

When you see me blowing kush on the push

Trying to get large dough

Ghost, Sosa and Large Pro

Why you think I got on my cargos

To put mad stacks in it

I burn your house with the plaques in it

And then I’m spraying the MAC in it

Your DJ is wack, burn his house with the wax in it

Never kick raps if you ain’t got facts in it

But regardless whatever your bars is

I don’t give a fuck 'cause I be the hardest, nigga

I’m T-H-E-H-R-D-E-S-T, you don’t wanna see SP

Everyday I wake up its like I’m liable to sin

Smoke haze in Bible paper swallowing gin

I’m G-H-O-S-T

I can crack the ground and make the clouds come down

Find me if you looking for trouble

Send a hundred niggas, I’ma bust a thousand rounds

The streets is mine

The East just fine

We drop jewels in our verbal, we reach the blind

We Badu with the earth food

Delete the swine, '92

How we merk you, it’s reaper time

No riffing, death is near, the checks is cleared

'Bout to charge niggas holes for they reckless stares

'Bout to bar niggas flows 'cause they rep ain’t there

They style is trash

The more cash, the less I care

I’m colder, real vulgar

Kill Bill with the blue steel in the holster

Come no closer, got the game in a choka, blunt smoker

Pretty hair, cunt stroker, it’s Brooklyn baby

Motherfuckers thought Bush was crazy, kill 'em all

My marriage to the streets was annulled, I’m appalled

From the era where the real niggas ball took cheddar

Broads even look much better I put pleasure

And stitch in every word

I’m the sickest ever heard

If you can’t get me richer I’ma kick you to the curb

Picture getting served on a yacht with Hors d’oeuvres

While the block still rock twenty G’s by the third

That’s my word

I’m T-H-E-H-R-D-E-S-T, y’all don’t wanna see AZ

At any given minute nigga liable to flip

You wanna pimp nigga find you a bitch I ain’t the one

S-O-S, that’s me

Got a hundred hungry goons that’ll kill for free

And the same young nigga that’ll torch your face

And suit up and come support at your wake

(Hahaha) motherfucker

Its the Ghost SP

The G-O-D AZ

XP, its the Ghost SP

With the G-O-D AZ

XP, with the G-O-D AZ

Hardest, yeah, hardest