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She tossed the flamer '94 walked into danger |
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Behind the wall fought with a banger |
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Trapped in the beast, gas released, a rat deceased |
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Back on the street, back on her feet |
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Clappin the heat... |
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[unknown singer] |
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She's dressed to kill |
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Iced-out head to toe, a snake in black |
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She's cleared, to, get ill |
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She's about the dough, the black widow |
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[Verse 1: Kool G Rap] |
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Yo, she was a tight bird, female version of Iceberg |
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To put in the right words |
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Played the right curves, beige and white birds |
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The type she served it was quite superb |
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Ran through the city in a white suburb |
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Lived in a predominantly white suburb |
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She liked the herb, rockin all the richest type of furs |
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Make your life submerge if you strike a nerve |
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Dough she like to splurge |
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Shine of her light blurs from off her finger |
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Honey was off the ringer, the way she tossed the flamer |
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'94 walked into danger, behind the wall fought with a banger |
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Trapped in the beast, gas released, a rat deceased |
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Back to the street, back on her feet |
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Clappin the heat, from the back seat, in back of a jeep |
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Stackin the heat, pilin the ones |
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Made her point when violence was brung |
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Regulated and balanced the slums |
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Brought in a cat with a talent for guns |
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Click quick to silence a Dunn |
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Convoys of black limos |
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Employs strapped with mack millos |
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Bustin off caps through a cracked window, that's the MO |
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Push your wig back, make you a black Leno |
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The feds on her tracks got the phones tapped for info |
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Tryin to map the dividend flow, and where the ends go |
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Checkin on whose name the Benz go |
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Who pushes the buttons when Mac-10's blow |
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A rose on a black satin pillow |
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The silhouette of her web, killin for bloodspill, a black widow |
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[Chorus: unknown singer] + (Kool G Rap) |
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She's (out for blood) dressed (for the kill) to kill (bustin slugs) |
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Iced-out (shit is real) head (livin crime) to toe (life of crime) |
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A snake (droppin heads) in black (pullin nines) |
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She's cleared (dodgin heat) to (play the street) |
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Get ill (let the guns blow, had to eat) |
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She's about (copped the raw) the dough (went to war) |
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The black widow (beef no more, cold fours at your door) |
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[Verse 2: Kool G Rap] |
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She was married but four times a widow |
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The fifth time ditto, kiddo |
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Step out of line, kitko, she spit nines and shi-dells |
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Put a pound to the tip of your niddose |
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Put em in line piddles |
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Diamond-stud shinin the clito', the web spinnin |
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With bloodstains soaked in the bed linen |
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Spread venom, known for bustin the lead grinnin, tilted red brimmin |
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Makin the lights inside of your head dimmin |
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Givin head to men and, leave a knife in they chest with a red ribbon |
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Bread to swim in, foes get left deader than Lennon |
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Threads of linen, sippin gin with a shread of lemon |
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Dead-up thoroughbred, slim and trim and stackin cake like Emminger's |
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Under the down coat brown coat like cinnamon |
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She went to have the Benjamins, for that she injure men |
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Send a squad to go and injure men that injure men |
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On top of that she popular, hit the opera |
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Francis Ford Coppola, mezzanine she's with binoculars |
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You even think about poppin her, stoppin her, moppin her, droppin her |
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Hard with bodyguards divin on top of her |
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Cops in they Blu-Blockers watchin her, steady clockin her |
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Jock her, dreamin of knockin her, thinkin a scheme for knockin her |
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Dress provocative, show the cleavage between her knockers |
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Bust a sock off with a blocker to rasta inside her locker |
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She cover the bills though, restaurant delicatessen Armadillo |
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White Willow, strike of the black widow |
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[Chorus] |
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[Verse 3: Kool G Rap] |
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She held a white weddin |
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Type settin just like a sight from heaven |
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Spend twice the bread'n from her last rice on her head'n |
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All types of presents, striking presence |
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Bodyguards ready to light they weapons, ignite the Wessons |
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Refuse to live the life of a peasant |
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Days and nights was right and type pleasant |
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At the foot of the aisles, took vows |
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with all the criminals and crook pals |
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That put smiles on niggaz' necks while they look foul |
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Piles of cops peepin her central book files |
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Beef them niggaz cook wild, groom lookin shook style |
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Forced into marriage, horse and a carriage |
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Remember lifespan shorter than average, lady boss flossin her carats |
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Dreams to get rich and perish in Paris |
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Cherish the cabbagem, makin her path out of the church passage |
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Thugs they do they dirt massive |
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Skirt slashed, first class, Doni Amberg glasses |
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Flirt with her lashes |
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Snapshots, smirk for the flashes |
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Plots to leave her murked in the masses |
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Two killin experts on the grasses |
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Put in they Tec work for the cashes |
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Leave the Earth hurt with a passion |
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Two louds shots burstin in action |
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Made her head jerk from the blastin |
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Lady down, holdin her shirt gaspin, hit by another turf assassin |
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Reason not even worth askin; the facts are real, though |
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Got her cap peeled for stackin real dough |
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Lifestyle brillo when you're rollin for krill dough |
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Death of a black widow |
