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letra de nine thou - styles of beyond

hey yo, first thing’s first,
it’s time to shake ground, in the eighth round,
box battle and break down,
for the beak in the rhyme tone,
jump in the cyclone,
s-t-y-l-e-s, yes i know,
give the rap phene vaccine,
packed red beam,
put ’em up (what the f-ck),
you plucked a bad seed,
off the wall, spittin’ the guerilla tag team,
what’s up now, duck down, stuff that can’t breathe.

yo, you know the routine, the demon effect,
please, don’t step, you wanna be one of my pet peeves,
the more beef the better; sound gay,
but you all wanna sleep together, ok,
in the club we gon’ sneak berettas,
why not? we got so much street credit, the f-ckin’ police let us,
now that’s bullsh-t, ’cause we don’t pack heat,
so come and get your head crackin’ up at me.

keep it- movin’ it’s on now,
making it punk loud,
shaking the buck wild,
rapin’ the punk style,
fakin’ the funk pal,
dunk watch the punk,
what now? watch your battleship get sunk down,
click (click) pow (pow) knocked (knocked) out (out).
what? just what i thought, what’s up now?
click (click) pow (pow) knocked (knocked) out (out).
what? just what i thought, what’s up now?

hold it down, never give in,
styles ever get limbs,
or whether you want it to end,
dirty syringe, i murder ’em again,
9-7 serving them sins,
uh 30 your friends get knocked out, turbulent wind,
hopped out, what you want, big verb in the gin,
i’m a fish; you can tell by the flippers or fins,
c’mon.

yo, i got a rock style,
pivot the offspring, and joke with ’em
with a distorted guitar string,
who am i? russian roulette? who and tak?
pushin’ your bed hotter than quebec in july,
area 5-1, stereo, rive gun live,
here we go, s-o-b drop some,
for the kids in the hall with the new block tape,
blast from both angles like boondock saints,
so get up, get up and let the sound hit ya,
snap this audio-style picture.

who the h-ll wear splittin’ the belly up on a selfish,
shinnin’ in your style playin’ the fell blitz,
drillin’ your brain, like rap and video games,
feel the syringe for the styles that’s stickin’ in your veins.

yo, what kind of sh-t is he on?
really is styles, really be on,
c’mon punk f-ck off; you really gotta be gone,
ripped out of your brain,
p-ssed covered in sh-t to diss this s-o-b game,
son of a b-tch,
i’ma start killin’ for kicks,
there ain’t an air force one in the globe i can’t fig, get it?
i’m sick with it, when i spit the venom,
and it drip’s up in ’em,
and it get’s the women,
in a quick dilemma; we can settle it now,
and i don’t know who did it, but they said it was styles.

click (click) pow (pow) knocked (knocked) out (out).
what? just what i thought, what’s up now?

click (click) pow (pow) knocked (knocked) out (out).
what? just what i thought, what’s up now?
click (click) pow (pow) knocked (knocked) out (out).
what? just what i thought, what’s up now?

- styles of beyond

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