Styles P - War lyrics

[Talking] Mic Check 1, 2, 1, 2... you know? (Johnny Blanco) Chea!! Yeah, Yeah! (The Ghost) Whoo!! WL, Double R, 2O, you know? Hahahaha Casper Producer Co., Holla!!! 108 Corona!! Yeah! Blanco!! Yo, Yo, Yo, Yo.. [Johnny Blanco] My waist lines an oven, who wanna get cooked? Pretty and Handsome, but I move like a crook The bars don't stop call me Mr. B-E-S-T Ladies holla, f** you whitey, and rub on they breast And I don't need Kay Slay, to start no drama I bring it to you, ya b**h, ya click, father, and momma I'm hungry, ribs are showing, pa** the fork I'm eatin everything beef, chicken, p**y, and pork(s**a!) The milis is warm, prepare for a storm I'm putting numbers up, murdering sh**, to getting my f** on To all my motherf**in crackers holla back Ladies s** on a dick and swallow back I'm always in lobbies Coke, X, and Weed Pharmaceutical man, call the block, Dwayne Reed Go hard or go home, no bull sh** permitted f**in with the kid get a clip in ya fitted [Chorus] You don't want no heaters You don't really want no war Better back up before we get ya You don't really want know war You don't really want know war You don't really want know war Better back up before we hit ya With them thing that I tell ya, awww [Styles P] f** you, I don't care Ain't a n***a that I won't air What Up?...Yeah f** by in fear n***as is getting jumped Bullets in getting dumped n***as is getting slumped What Up?..Its the D-Block boy The shotty tied to my leg, thats what I beat bop for And I ma**acre ya head and ya neck Peal off in a teal colored Acura, and thats it Like a hit man if ya hired, but I work for my self If I want n***as dead then I murk them myself I squeeze and pop, let 'em drink from myself I'm a soldier even though I'm a boss And if you heard five n***as dead, then you know I'm the source You ain't far, for a magazine Have n***as at the funeral like "like damn, they hit god with a magazine" When you f** with P, its like gargling gasoline [Chorus] [Johnny Blanco] 2O and Double R, sh**'s trouble pa f** who you are, we run tracks like NASCAR's Charac-tars Y'all amateurs, with kalla bars, murder bars, who the f** wanna change us? Ya life a movie, you edit the hard sh** Dissolve the soft footage, you ain't hard, b**h Ya flames is matches My kerosene catches And detaches, skin from bone and turns flesh to ashes And I don't give a f** about no cake The sh** flyin out my waist bout to spit in ya face A louisville sluggin ya, right in ya jugular To put a slug in ya, Johnny will have d**h huggin ya Catch you in the studio writting a track And leave ya motherf**in head sleepin right on your lap It's the cracker barrel boy with the holiday kid Flying power out the holster, right by the rib [Chorus] [Beat plays until fade]