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royce da 5'9'' - the banjo lyrics

[verse 1: royce da 5’9″]
die, b-tch, die, hoe
new god flow, no i’ll go
diablo, why, hoe?
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 n-ggas 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’ fireb-lls 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 k!lled 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 slag
fiend hit the gl-ss, hit his -ss, 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 embarr-ssed
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
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 l1cks, 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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