Styles P - Swizz N 4 Beatz lyrics

[Swizz Beatz] Ruff Ryders, 1-2, 1-2 G.E.T.T.O. Stories, Swizz Beatz Makin' it happen Listen to what the f** I got to say I'm from the hood I love the hood I rep the hood, lived in the hood Started on the grind, started with a 9 Motherf**er, I had to earn mine n***a, a lot of n***as hatin', a lot of n***as watchin' A lot of n***as plottin', a lot of hearts stoppin' Uh, believe that, I'm bangin' with the beats I bang with the streets, I'm bangin' with the heat S - to the double - I - to the double - Z n***as look at me - want no trouble B I'm just mindin' my business Makin' money, stackin' chips, just mindin' my business You can catch me in the 3-60 or, Odena, blowin' down the Pasadena The rebel appeal, go 'head, appeal, that b**h will squeal That's when that ho's dyin', cause if I'm in court it's guaranteed I'm lyin' f**ers, I had to get my business right Had to get my money right, had to get my label right You can hate all you want, I'm here forever Swizz Beatz part whatever, I'm here forever, b**h [Shyne] Swizz, Po Step out gangsta n***a Lay down What you know 'bout rollin' out? Big Tec, big vest, hollow tips all up in that kid neck Po live it up, yellow stones lit it up Long John Silver's tell, it's the kid, n***a what? Some of y'all rap n***as is girls Hold my dick, gappin' and flappin' f**in' cartoons These n***as guns don't go off until they say, "Lights, camera, action!" Yo Swizz, tell them n***as, "Eat a dick" Gun up in your face b**h, that way we don't miss Unload the sh**, then reload the sh** And straight to the airport and unload some bricks No lie, you n***as see me comin' down the streets You'd think I was flyin', 12 cylinders Brooklyn is mine n***a, move over Yeah I'm talkin' to you - f**in' dick blower (Sung with female) For all of y'all keepin' y'all in health Just to see you wild and enjoy yourself Cause it's cool when you f**in' with a n***a like me Cool when you ridin' with a n***a like me (Female Singing) To all my Marla Mable b**hes just (shine) To all my n***as keep it gully just (shine) To all the ghettos in America (shine) I'mma keep it gangsta till I die n***a (shine) [Styles - The LOX] Ya really ain't beefin' Ya wanna talk to God? Then my 9 is the phone line to reach Him I thought about it hard and long And came up with the answer to myself that God is wrong Cause if y'all that the best you can do To f** with Paniro, then after these bars, I'm gone I'm harder than a year in the box My head is to pop without a Ox on a murderous block And they never {EDITED} for years, what? Cause if it 44 cells, I feel like its hell Been 22 n***as goin' off of the tear Time Magazine, P should get the "Boss of the Year" Tinted Magazine, you could get the "Corpse of the Year" Bout to kidnap the rappers, knock out they eyes So nobody gotta watch when I floss of the year And if you heard P spittin', then it's all for the ears, what? Motherf**a