Ghost Of Fillmoe

I like your mind, your body, your soul, your figure

Catch ya, hold ya, squeeze you like a trigger

Mind full of rap gun powder, it's a habit

Shootin' like Elmer Fudd at the screwy rabbit

From pennies to nickels, from dimes in the rhyme

Get your paint brush and line your design

It might be a little bitter on top of Sugar Hill

But the ones that got killed say it's real on the field

From the sky

Ghost of Filmoe, what