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letra de g-joint - styles p

(feat. j-hood)

[verse 1: styles p]
man i rock the f-ck out, though
i don’t know about everyone else
whatever we don’t make, we gon’ take muh’f-cker
get this straight and fix yo’ face
i ain’t got to sell millions, i’m in the buildings
where papi comin through with them bricks by 8
listen c-cksucker and clown, i’ll be leavin you cut
you’re like a dutch, how i’m bustin you down
n-gg-z drivin in a circle wit’cha hoe in the back
‘ll be the only d-mn way i be f-ckin around
and i’m aimin for your waist, hopin you duck
so i can bust you in the head when i’m buckin the pound
and i told you that i’m holiday styles, let’s celebrate
heard you gettin money, i’ll rob you right now
and you gon’ get popped in the head, true story
crips do they thing in blue gloves, pop off some red
me, i’m on the move only stopping for bread
double r and d-block n-gg-, copper and lead, whattup

[verse 2: styles p]
stay in the zone
i don’t know why the f-ck you amped yo
got hoodrat b-tches, carryin birds on the public transpo’
n-gg-z in the hoods that go out like rambo
they hot since 138th had that cancelled
young buck… dumb f-ck
i’m two guns up, “ryde or die” ’til the sun’s up
“gangsta and a gentleman” dog, i got cl-ss
i’ma send a bunch a roses to your men in the morgue
i’ll be down south bendin a wh-r-, ten in the morn’
dirty on 85 like jay, barnes, sean paul
beef with new york rappers, i’m killin ’em all
on my slick rick sh-t, y’all could “lick the balls”
i been cool cause these n-gg-z is -ss, but f-ck that
might as well call me pool cause i’m gettin splashed
and that lamborghini liftin the stash, even gettin the m-ss
while some haze to mix with the hash, whattup

[verse 3: j-hood]
p-ss that blunt n-gg-!
i’m in the hood where the eggs get knocked off
gang members find they family members with both of they legs chopped off
n-gg-z ain’t scr-ppin, they bangin ya
the judge don’t need a tree branch when they hangin ya
all y’all f-gs’ll get ate like clams
since this is a “bloodsport” b-tch, you could call me j van damme
all these so called guerillas be tellin
how a rat gon’ give you “thoughts of a predicate felon,” muh’f-cker
homey what you want, the blade or the slug
i’m the one that send the order when they sprayed up the club
b-tch n-gg-, bow your head in the presence of g’s
load the lead up and squeeze; i’m a great dane, n-gg-z is fleas
f-ckin rats cant wait to call cops
’til i make ’em sick and put pellets in they mouth like cough drops
j-hood b-tch, my name ring in the ghetto
cause i’m og and i play the streets like a cello

- styles p

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