Maestro - How Many Styles lyrics

INTRO [Maestro Fresh Wes] It's the power move (yeah) It's the power move (yeah) Peace to the power move (yeah) It's the master plan (word) Peace To the master plan (yeah) 1994 baby, the Maestro wild like a psycho That's how we do CHORUS [Maestro Fresh Wes] It goes in with the fat, out with the wack In with the fat out with the wack You n***as can't rap, so I want my money back Can you dig it? (I can dig it), can you dig it? (I can dig it) In with the fat, out with the wack In with the fat out with the wack You n***as can't rap, so I want my money back Can you dig it? (I can dig it), can you dig it? (I can dig it) [Maestro Fresh Wes] Yo, I walk tall like Hanibal Adley Hit a grand slam like my man Don Mattingly Come prepared if you ever try to battle me (why) I got rhymes coming out my an*l cavity Straight outta Scarborough Ready to swing blows, n***as want to quit Wash my nuts and my windows I'm on your tape decks, rhyming to my apex If a n***a don't like he can bite me with a latex Because when I'm rhyming, heads are declining Like Brian Mulroney, n***as are resigning Competition ain't in front of me Maestro where'd you get all thses dope rhymes from? I don't know, they just come to me You f**ing with a crazy brother I don't kiss and tell, but I know your baby mother I ain't bullsh**ting Mmm, why did Gill cook a mean Curry Chicken Time for me to get mad check(?) So wack motherf**ers step to the left I'm fat like a Cadillac, cut like a battle axe I got crazy freaks, wash from BC to Halifax Yeah, now the Maest is known This beats alright, but now I thknk I want a xylophone With my cipher grown, many mics are blown You're in the Maestro zone Now I gotta flow, hurdle any obstacle Rhyme to show, and clock the dough So many people try to stop the bro But I smoke competition like an octago(?) It's Maestro!, Fresh W-E-S big up to fly Ju(?) and my n***a big Jess Yes, my peeps from 1-6-2 I met her last summer on Jamaica Avenue Now every beat I made is a hit But tell me, how many styles can one n***a flip? Yeah, ha ha CHORUS [Maestro Fresh Wes] From the lungs of the Maestro, hail the funk hail the phelgm n***as getting grim everytime I begin To bring the funk to radio stations to bump me You should have never let my a** into your country Word to God, I'm real hard I'm even deadlier than Tony Montana with a green card f** you and your demo tape Instead of tryin' to imitate... innovate I pull the mic but I don't pull cards Bust your a** plus Julio down by the schoolyard Don't try dissing me, because your style is history I'm packing more flavour than the kernel's(sp?) rotisserie I injure bone and I injure limbs I've come a long way like Virgina SLims I do a show with the Bandstand, never met the sandman Chicks with the big tits give me a gland stand(?) Older broads want to jock me, Elanor from Fox wants my rock Let me stop, and burn styles Chumps want to turn wild, you say you got dope But why was your pops jumping turnstiles You ain't got money *Laughter* I'm so dope, this sh**'s funny All my jams is the sh**s But tell me how many styles can one n***a flip? OUTRO [Maestro Fresh Wes] Yeah, 1994 baby Brother Maestro I want to say what's up to my people, Scarborough Jane the Finch, Jungle, Flemington Park, everywhere You know what I'm saying Toronto flavour, catching mad wrizzech in efizzect