Styles P - The 3 Lyrical Ps lyrics

[Intro: Sean Price] Yeah, P! (La musica de Harry Fraud) I could tell by your beard you don’t love Allah You got the Bryant Gumbel face [Verse 1: Sean Price] It go, waste removal, we dispose brothers Embarra**ing the family, Kesha Cole mother Man down, stand down, blam rounds Have b**h n***as thinking that me and my camp clowns Listen, Ringling Brothers and Barnum and Bailey I’m strangling brothers, I’m harming them daily I shoot a fair one with a midget Duke, I shoot an airgun at a pigeon Shut the f** up Y’all n***as is barley weights f**ing with the white with the Tony Montana face Andre Iguodala I smack sh** out of you, make your padre give me dollars I’m not just a rapper I’m a pain of my trade Abstract art, just throw a grenade to your brains Word to me and mine Every word from P divine I smack sh** out of n***as dressing like Key of Shinee [Verse 2: Prodigy] Yeah The rap great, the beat crazy On the daily, serve bullets across your temple get grazed it Blood pouring out that van, that’s not wavy All I do in the is world is get the money mainly All I want in this world, my pretty [?] Four pound in her Chanel clutch, yeah that’s sweet For the life, I’ll put your brain next to your feet Break all your toy soldiers and then make it complete Then take a couple double shots with the team And party like it’s 2020 on the beach Life is what you make it so I made it iconic I f** her so good, yeah my dick is bionic I’m dope like chronic I’m nasty like vomit I spit up a verse, on your level? I’m beyond it Black Mafia, Infamous, on that Mobb sh** Better, you are now rocking with the best, we good regardless [Verse 3: Styles P] I hear you talking but it don’t mean sh** ‘Cause n***as will pop on you like SEAL Team Six Cheers to the k**ers in limousines Those from Thailand with a ship through the Philippines Soak the kerosene and thrown in the guillotine Burnt with your head cut off, you don’t dream You’re gelatin, my skeleton is like wolverine’s Your family come for revenge, blow ’em to smithereens I’m like Morpheus on opiates Matrix, facelift with the can opener Gatling on the stand whenever the van open up Doors slide, [?] hit your face like it’s rawhide Bullets hit your teeth like it’s fluoride I’ma bring you through hell, I’ll be the tour guide So what you want the hawk or the .45? Don’t you ask me ’bout no rappers they can all die