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(feat. J-Hood) [Verse 1: Styles P] Man I rock the fuck out, though I don't know about everyone else Whatever we don't make, we gon' take muh'fucker 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 cocksucker and clown, I'll be leavin you cut You're like a dutch, how I'm bustin you down Niggaz drivin in a circle wit'cha hoe in the back 'll be the only damn way I be fuckin 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 nigga, copper and lead, whattup [Verse 2: Styles P] Stay in the zone I don't know why the fuck you amped yo Got hoodrat bitches, carryin birds on the public transpo' SongtexteNiggaz in the hoods that go out like Rambo They hot since 138th had that cancelled Young buck... dumb fuck I'm two guns up, "Ryde or Die" 'til the sun's up "Gangsta and a Gentleman" dog, I got class I'ma send a bunch a roses to your men in the morgue I'll be down South bendin a whore, 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 shit, y'all could "Lick the Balls" I been cool cause these niggaz is ass, but fuck that Might as well call me pool cause I'm gettin splashed And that Lamborghini liftin the stash, even gettin the mass While some haze to mix with the hash, whattup [Verse 3: J-Hood] Pass that blunt nigga! I'm in the hood where the eggs get knocked off Gang members find they family members with both of they legs chopped off Niggaz ain't scrappin, they bangin ya The judge don't need a tree branch when they hangin ya All y'all fags'll get ate like clams Since this is a "Bloodsport" bitch, 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'fucker Homey what you want, the blade or the slug I'm the one that send the order when they sprayed up the club Bitch nigga, bow your head in the presence of G's Load the lead up and squeeze; I'm a great dane, niggaz is fleas Fuckin rats cant wait to call cops 'Til I make 'em sick and put pellets in they mouth like cough drops J-Hood bitch, my name ring in the ghetto Cause I'm O.G. and I play the streets like a cello Aus Songtexte Mania