Stylin Lyrics. From Movie "Brooklyn's Finest"

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A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z #

Stylin Lyrics


by Papoose. From Brooklyn's Finest.


You mad cuz im stylin on you
You mad cuz im stylin on you
Man you just mad cuz im stylin on you
Yeah you mad cuz im stylin on you

I wake up in the mornin wipe all the lint out my hair
Then i prepare what type of fly shit imma wear
Hop in the shower
Hop out slip in my gear
My chick on the stairs
Walk around switchin to rear
I sit on my chair
Hand on my chin and just stare
My vision is clear
And show me love isn't sincere
These niggas is squares
They know i got the illest ideas
Millionaires
I got enough wisdom to share
They snitching out here
Hip-hop cops friskin my pits
These niggas in fear
How can i win if i'm in there
Mousse in my hair like pap
End these niggas career
I'm grinnin like yeah
Hell i'm sendin em there
As soon as i got the check i let it flip when it cleared
You a backstabber a snake a prick and you win
Somebody need to pray for him i got him in my prayers
That other nigga bout to die i'm puttin him in my swiz

I got the hammer on my hip
Ice on my wrist
Drive a big whip
And you ain't got shit
You mad cuz im stylin on you
You mad cuz im stylin on you
Man you just mad cuz im stylin on you
You mad cuz im stylin on you
Man you just mad cuz im stylin on you
Yeah you mad cuz im stylin on you

Yous a test tube baby hit your test tube up
I see they gassed you
Why you let em amoco and hess you up
I had the .38 special tucked
Since color me badd was singing i wanna sex you up
The cousin the brother the friend i get you stuck
Even hit the godfather with a threat you punk
Hit all of your step brothers and the rest you chumps
Don't let ya relatives get you slump
I can't curse on the radio but i'm bout to f you up
I hit the uncle the aunt and the nephew up
You ain't even built like that but yet you tough
When it go down i bet you duck
I'm sick wit it i'm a full blown cold i'll mess you up
You just a little sneeze god bless you chump
Wet you up tell em vest you up
Whoever told you i don't do my thing in the streets they set you up

I gotta album fulla hits
Work on the strip
A phone fulla chicks
And you ain't got shit
You mad cuz im stylin on you
You mad cuz im stylin on you
Man you just mad cuz im stylin on you
You mad cuz im stylin on you
Man you just mad cuz im stylin on you
Yeah you mad cuz im stylin on you

I keep my pants saggin hell of a style my gear matchin
I ride the caddy truck you ride in a band wagon
The elevator take too long you can't catch it
Chase you in your building and run up the stairs clappin
What's the reason niggas be thinkin it can't happen
I show and prove he show and tell your man braggin
She look right her jeans so tight she can't fasten
And she popped the zipper squeezin her bare ass in
Turn my music up real loud yeah blast it
My style's so nasty i'll give you a eargasm
Saliva on your face cuz you really don't care
Try to act like you cryin you got spit in your tears
Send your team into crisis you niggas is scared
I ain't gotta be the one to get ridda this queer
I bet you one of them other niggas kill him this year
And he gonna die like a coward cuz he livin in fear

I got the hammer on my hip
Ice on my wrist
Drive a big whip
And you ain't got shit
You mad cuz im stylin on you
You mad cuz im stylin on you
Man you just mad cuz im stylin on you
You mad cuz im stylin on you
Man you just mad cuz im stylin on you
Yeah you mad cuz im stylin on you




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"Brooklyn's Finest" lyrics


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