Ruff Ryders - Holiday - Featuring Styles lyrics

Yeah L o x n***a It don't stop It keep goin, and goin, and goin, and goin Motherf**ers [styles paniro] You heard it from the p, you oughta know it's the truth I get you kidnapped and raped and thrown off a roof You could nod your head to this like it's only a rap Cuz when these bullets hit your a** i'm like it's only a gat I need a funeral to feel good, i'm hopin it's yours Think you delicious, heard he got shot in the cross Holiday styles, b**h i broke most of the laws f** with the poor, so flip to the boots, stick to the truth Do anything it takes just to give it a slue And missin a tooth, but both of 'em chipped, toaster is gripped You heard about the trouble, i start most of the sh** When i squeeze aint no controllin the wrist And n***as leave the room when the hear the p blowin his whis I'm an ignorant and negative n***a I sell crack, bust guns, pop sh**, and say i'm better than n***as You think not, i'll look at your man and level a n***a If you think a rapper's better why don't you give me his name So i can run up on him, tear him up and give you his frame When it comes to the streets, i'm the n***a to call Five eight and three quarters, but i'm bigger than y'all If i left the gun home, i'ma give you the sword I'm the devil in the flesh, i can't give you the lord It don't make no sense for you to pray for your life I got my n***as in the crib, you oughta pray for your wife Chorus: jadakiss and styles Jadakiss: uh huh, holiday Styles: i gotta make it to heaven for goin through hell J: holiday S: and i don't care if i sell, y'all know what i sell J: holiday S: i use my left hand when i'm loadin the shells J: holiday S: cuz i know it aint right, that's why i'm blowin a l [styles paniro] Yo, i do it all for my n***as, even rob wit a bomb Get shot, die in his arm, and give him my last It's a million dollar bail, i'ma get it in cash I sell crack like it's '88, i live in the past You know the p carry the gun, live in the mask Tell n***as show me the money and gimme the stash I like malibu and pineapple, fifty's of hash Hundred's of dro, wear my clothes a week in a row Sleep on the floor, catch me right next to the dog I'm holiday styles, and that's what the weaponry for And i probably won't blow for the fact that i'm hard But i'm good with ten million in the back of the car Either that or get life and lift the rack in the yard Gettin j**els from the old timers, stashin the cards But jail aint part of the plans I keep weight on the scale cuz i feel i get further with grams In my last few bars, i run through n***as like my last few cars And crash 'em up, the boy mighta went platinum but don't gas him up I get his length and his width and get his casket cut I don't deal with the snakes and fakes But i deal with the comas and wakes, i don't make mistakes Double r now b**h you oughta know i'ma ghost Blow up your face, blow up the coke, and blow up the smoke Chorus