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Holiday
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Styles P
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1
Yeah
2
L-O-X nigga
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It don't stop
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It keep goin, and goin, and goin, and goin
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Motherfuckers
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[Styles Paniro]
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You heard it from the P, you oughta know it's the truth
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I get you kidnapped and raped and thrown off a roof
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You could nod your head to this like it's only a rap
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'Cause when these bullets hit yo' ass I'm like it's only a gat
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I need a funeral to feel good, I'm hopin it's yours
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Think he religious? Heard he got shot in the cross
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Holiday Styles, bitch I broke most of the laws
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Fuck with the Porsche or flip to the boots, stick to the truth
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Do anything it takes just to get me this loot
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And missin' a tooth, but both of 'em chipped, toaster is gripped
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You heard about the trouble, I start most of the shit
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When I squeeze ain't no controllin' the wrist
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And niggas leave the room when they hear the P flowin to Swizz
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I'm an ignorant and negative nigga
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I sell crack, bust guns, pop shit, and say I'm better than niggas
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You think not, I'll look at your man and level a nigga
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If you think a rapper's better why don't you give me his name
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So I can run up on him, tear him up and give you his frame
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When it comes to the streets, I'm the nigga to call
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Five eight and three quarters, but I'm bigger than why'all
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If I left the gun home, I'ma give you the sword
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I'm the devil in the flesh, I can't give you the Lord
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It don't make no sense for you to pray for your life
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I got my niggas in the crib, you oughta pray for your wife
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[Chorus: Jadakiss and Styles]
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Jadakiss: Uh huh, HOLIDAY
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Styles: I gotta make it to heaven for goin through hell
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J: HOLIDAY
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S: And I don't care if I sell, why'all know what I sell
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J: HOLIDAY
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S: I use my left hand when I'm loadin the shells
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J: HOLIDAY
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S: 'cause I know it ain't right, that's why I'm blowin a L
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[Styles Paniro]
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Yo..
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I do it all for my niggas, even ride wit a bomb
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Get shot, die in his arm, and give him my last
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It's a million dollar bail, I'ma get it in cash
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I sell crack like it's '88, I live in the past
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You know the P carry the gun, live in the Maz'
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Tell niggas show me the money and gimme the stash
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I like Malibu and pineapple, fifties of hash
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Hundreds of 'dro, wear my clothes a week in a row
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Sleep on the floor, catch me right next to the dog
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I'm Holiday Styles, and that's what the weaponry for
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And I probably won't blow for the fact that I'm hard
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But I'm good with ten million in the back of the car
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Either that or get life and lift the rack in the yard
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Gettin' jewels from the old timers, stashin the cards
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But jail ain't part of the plans
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I keep weight on the scale 'cause I feel I get further with grams
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In my last few bars, I run through niggas like my last few cars
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And crash 'em up, the boy mighta went platinum but don't gas him up
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I get his length and his width and get his casket cut
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I don't deal with the snakes and fakes
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But I deal with the comas and wakes, I don't make mistakes
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Double are now bitch you oughta know I'ma ghost
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Blow up your face, blow up the coke, and blow up the smoke
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[Chorus]
Holiday (Album Version (Explicit))
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