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Styles of Beyond - Mr. Brown lyrics
Shout out my name, you bitch [Verse 1] Oh, yeah, who wanna rip with Styles? The whole place on the lookout for Mr. Brown We've got, plenty of clues and forensic files Plus, envious crews, so we trip for miles It's (Mister Brown!) Yeah, you know the drill Never holdin' 'em still Roll 'em over the hill Just glide, close your mouth and open the blinds Took the wings off a bird and let it float to the side Say (What?) to hear me callin Shoutin out my name and playin' this in the Walkman [Chorus] Aiyo, crash the gates Aiyo, pack the place up Break stuff, takin' all the paper I'mma stay laced up Keep a shank tucked, take a pay cut Even let you keep the dang paste up (really?) Say somethin, punk, what, put away the blank gun Fakes wanna talk about bank but they make none Live from the sweatbox, sucking on the (???) Pop some, lookin' for the foxhunt, peace [Verse 2] Yo, the joke's over, slap the bloke sober Catch a .40 caliber case of glaucoma Riders like Johnny Depp rollin' with Winona Big trunk fulla shit, blow the globe up So what? nobody knows us, got no love Pop 6, Ryu and Tak, cops know what it does Hot shit by the bungalow, drop the bloody glove Won't get caught killin' today, baby, cause I'm a thug Bottles of beer from the land of five horses Man who wasn't there like Billy Bob Thornton Crush-crew landin in, steppin' into the scene Fertilize new lawns, a Requiem for a Dream It's (Mister Brown!), legendary assignment Searchlights hover, but can't seem to find him Track down whatever you can in the mist In this case, it's strictly the hand of a fist So (What?), keep your eyes peeled |
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