Lyrics
Yeah
L o x nigga
It dont stop
It keep goin, and goin, and goin, and goin
Motherfuckers
You heard it from the p, you oughta know its the truth
I get you kidnapped and raped and thrown off a roof
You could nod your head to this like its only a rap
Cuz when these bullets hit your ass Im like its only a gat
I need a funeral to feel good, Im hopin its yours
Think you delicious, heard he got shot in the cross
Holiday styles, bitch I broke most of the laws
Fuck 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 shit
When I squeeze aint no controllin the wrist
And niggas leave the room when the hear the p blowin his whis
Im an ignorant and negative nigga
I sell crack, bust guns, pop shit, and say Im better than niggas
You think not, Ill look at your man and level a nigga
If you think a rappers better why dont 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, Im the nigga to call
Five eight and three quarters, but Im bigger than yall
If I left the gun home, ima give you the sword
Im the devil in the flesh, I cant give you the lord
It dont make no sense for you to pray for your life
I got my niggas in the crib, you oughta pray for your wife
uh huh, holiday
I gotta make it to heaven for goin through hell
holiday
and I dont care if I sell, yall know what I sell
holiday
I use my left hand when Im loadin the shells
holiday
cuz I know it aint right, thats why Im blowin a l Yo, I do it all for my niggas, even rob wit a bomb
Get shot, die in his arm, and give him my last
Its a million dollar bail, ima get it in cash
I sell crack like its 88, I live in the past
You know the p carry the gun, live in the mask
Tell niggas show me the money and gimme the stash
I like malibu and pineapple, fiftys of hash
Hundreds of dro, wear my clothes a week in a row
Sleep on the floor, catch me right next to the dog
Im holiday styles, and thats what the weaponry for
And I probably wont blow for the fact that Im hard
But Im good with ten million in the back of the car
Either that or get life and lift the rack in the yard
Gettin jewels 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 niggas like my last few cars
And crash em up, the boy mighta went platinum but dont gas him up I get his length and his width and get his casket cut
I dont deal with the snakes and fakes
But I deal with the comas and wakes, I dont make mistakes
Double r now bitch you oughta know ima ghost
Blow up your face, blow up the coke, and blow up the smoke