Yeah
L-O-X nigga
It don't stop
It keep goin, and goin, and goin, and goin
Motherfuckers[Styles Paniro]
You heard it from the P, you oughta know it's the truth
I get you kidnapped and raped and thrown off a roof
You could nod your head to this like it's only a rap
'Cause when these bullets hit yo' ass I'm like it's only a gatI need a funeral to feel good, I'm hopin it's yours
Think he religious? Heard he got shot in the cross
Holiday Styles, bitch I broke most of the laws
Fuck with the Porsche or flip to the boots, stick to the truthDo anything it takes just to get me this loot
And missin' a tooth, but both of 'em chipped, toaster is gripped
You heard about the trouble, I start most of the shit
When I squeeze ain't no controllin' the wristAnd niggas leave the room when they hear the P flowin to Swizz
I'm an ignorant and negative nigga
I sell crack, bust guns, pop shit, and say I'm better than niggas
You think not, I'll look at your man and level a niggaIf you think a rapper's better why don't you give me his name
So I can run up on him, tear him up and give you his frame
When it comes to the streets, I'm the nigga to call
Five eight and three quarters, but I'm bigger than why'allIf I left the gun home, I'ma give you the sword
I'm the devil in the flesh, I can't give you the Lord
It don't make no sense for you to pray for your life
I got my niggas in the crib, you oughta pray for your wife[Chorus: Jadakiss and Styles]
Jadakiss: Uh huh, HOLIDAY
Styles: I gotta make it to heaven for goin through hell
J: HOLIDAY
S: And I don't care if I sell, why'all know what I sell
J: HOLIDAY
S: I use my left hand when I'm loadin the shells
J: HOLIDAY
S: 'cause I know it ain't right, that's why I'm blowin a L[Styles Paniro]
Yo..
I do it all for my niggas, even ride wit a bomb
Get shot, die in his arm, and give him my last
It's a million dollar bail, I'ma get it in cashI sell crack like it's '88, I live in the past
You know the P carry the gun, live in the Maz'
Tell niggas show me the money and gimme the stash
I like Malibu and pineapple, fifties of hashHundreds of 'dro, wear my clothes a week in a row
Sleep on the floor, catch me right next to the dog
I'm Holiday Styles, and that's what the weaponry for
And I probably won't blow for the fact that I'm hardBut I'm good with ten million in the back of the car
Either that or get life and lift the rack in the yard
Gettin' jewels from the old timers, stashin the cards
But jail ain't part of the plansI keep weight on the scale 'cause I feel I get further with grams
In my last few bars, I run through niggas like my last few cars
And crash 'em up, the boy mighta went platinum but don't gas him up
I get his length and his width and get his casket cutI don't deal with the snakes and fakes
But I deal with the comas and wakes, I don't make mistakes
Double are now bitch you oughta know I'ma ghost
Blow up your face, blow up the coke, and blow up the smoke[Chorus]
Songwriters
DEAN, KASSEEM/STYLES, DAVIDPublished by
Lyrics © EMI Music Publishing, Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Universal Music Publishing Group Song Discussions is protected by U.S. Patent 9401941. Other patents pending.