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letra de what's beef - stylz the artiste

i can smell the hunger on yo breath n-gga
sh-t ain’t going right and now it’s got you looking left n-gga
see em at the light, them creepers gone take yo breath n-gga
reach under that seat
grab that heat
n-gga pull the trigger
b-tches mobbing me, coming deep for some minor figures
running bout a l!ck scared to hit
they some p-ssy n-ggas
full of all that hoop’n hollerin’ sh-t
wouldn’t touch the trigger
scared to go to jail they’ll see h-ll when i see them n-ggas
pull up to yo spot like
broad daylight
all action
got one on my waist
one in my hand b-tch i’m blasting
see you in a week
tell yo momma close the casket
or they gone see them holes you got
from f-cking with a savage
saying you the plug n-gga
but talking to the plug n-gga
thought you was a thug n-gga
come here you’ll get drug n-gga
tie you by yo feet
hang yo body from a truck, n-gga
ride around the city till we think you had enough
walking ’round with cold feet
scared to blast that cold heat
only hold a tool cause you scared to get you -ss beat
yo momma shoulda did it well before you even met me
bout to put some fire to that -ss
this that real heat

what’s beef
it’s been a while since i been in the streets
you n-ggas think i’m soft
you new b-tches looking weak
what’s beef
i hear a lot of sh-t between yo t–th
n-gga run it
want them dummies to yo’ head or this heat!

today i got time!
welcome to the mind of a maniac
i’m ’bout to show you crazy
you gone lay down or get put down
i do this on a daily
boy you twisted if you thinking imma let a n-gga play me
i’m a savage to you average n-ggas
i mean you average n-ggas ain’t sh-t to a savage
f-ck you thought
i been quiet tryna handle business
but now you new n-ggas want beef
and imma burn you real quick
f-ck that burner in yo hand
you usin’ a full clip
i got one inside my barrel
shooting execution
f-ck them n-ggas that you run with
i bet they won’t do sh-t
f-ck them b-tches that you f-cking
they never had true d-ck
now i said i got time!
b-tch if you want it we can run it
blow a hole in yo stomach
semi-automatic packing
i call em my lil’ drummers
see the money that you flashing
i’m ’bout to make smooths hunnids

t marie

i don’t really have beef, cuz i don’t really f-ck wit’ hoes
and when i do they gimmie loot then gimmie top, then leave me lone
tryna be a saint will get this glock on ya super dome
then ya mama get a ring ring like the super bowl
big man tings like a rasta wit the dreddies on
and my bad b-tch booty just swing like a metronome
if u want da work i could plug u for the super low
rolled up hunnits 4 the pow, if u could take a blow
ohhweee
it’s beachgirltmarie i’m crazy wavy
all gold , str8 crack… 80s baby
pull up on yo block mad crazy
long beach, but i run az like big larry
i call head blown
goons look like jim carry wit mask on
no beef , no joke
trust me u don’t want no smoke

- stylz the artiste

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