The Banjo lyrics

by

Black Thought


[Verse 1: Royce Da 5'9"]
Die, b*tch, die, ho
New God flow, no I'll go
Diablo, why, ho?
Why, b*tch, do time tick?
Think about it, you die slow
If not you die quick
I’m sicker than Theraflu
Wickeder than a kick over headstone
Sippin' on redrum
After I'm finished just swimmin' inside of the dead pool
After I'm finished just inflictin' on the guy a despicable head wound
Nothin' is important, but to import tons
On my fourth run while I'm eatin' lunch with my forked tongue
I swing this motherf*ckin' barrel loose
I don't f*ck with knives, n*gga, I'm Sardo Numsie
Y'all need to call the police on my people regardless
Rock a bye with my piece then call it Keisha in Harlem
I'm the highest of all beings, my eye is the all-seeing
Dribblin' fireballs with lion paws for my audience

[Hook: Royce Da 5'9"]
What if the Devil played the banjo?
What if he invited you out on the dance floor?
There's one of six million different ways this can go
[Verse 2: Westside Gunn & Conway]
Ayo, your fishscale Fisher-Price
First shot killed a n*gga, but I hit him twice
My trigger finger itchin' like it was lice
Sent the white in a pot with the ice, whipped it nice
Hurricane whipped the whole slab
Fiend hit the glass, hit his ass, you know the math
I toe tag me a n*gga, you know I spaz
I throw a bag to my young n*gga, he'll get it over fast
G-wag, 24 karat
Silencer on the MAC-12, you ain't even hear it
Lightning strikin' on the Neil Barrett
f*ck n*gga don't get embarrassed
f*ck your two Sarah's out in Paris
b*tch n*gga, your life, you better cherish
Ten shooters show up to your show just to air it
Uh, Griselda, the dinner place swingin'
Body in the Bentley truck, sh*t reakin'

[Hook: Royce Da 5'9"]
What if the Devil played the banjo?
What if he invited you out on the dance floor?
There's one of six million different ways this can go
(So go fast)

[Verse 3: Styles P]
Eyes are the windows to the soul, what your secret is?
Once had to battle the reaper, and I ethered him
No tellin' what I'll sing on the mic, he got reefer in 'em
Ghost guts, I can see a ghost, and speak to 'em
Buildin' with the dead like every other night
And I never write a rhyme, I recite my other life
You thinkin' this a verse, but it's more of a testimonial
So flow, up in the zone, only the lonely know
Thinkin' I'm geekin', but I'm reachin' my dead homies, though
Told 5'9 if I have a nine to five
I'll line rappers with the nine and rob em five times
Every day, seven days a week, call it crime time or
Thirty-five licks, n*gga, that's a prime rhyme
Fightin' Bruce Lee's demon, but I'm agin' like fine wine
You don't understand me
Cause you don't stand under the code that mean family
Ghost is uncanny
[Hook: Royce Da 5'9"]
What if the Devil played the banjo?
What if he invited you out on the dance floor?
There's one of six million different ways this can go
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