Felony

Verse 1

Shhh (Two guns up mothafka, Two guns up mothafka (overlap))
Real s**t...Styles P s**t..
If P want you dead, I aint comin' wit
Just a blunt and a tre pound, plenty of liquor
So ya homies got something to pour
That's that old school s**t
I aint tryin' to put you under the floor
I'm tryin' ta bang over the clouds
and I heard you say you rich
so you can't get lower than Styles
kill everybody dead just so noone can smile
play the streets my whole life and i been flowin' a while
biget i rock, ever since my nigg* was shot and my other nigg*
was shoot s**t i'm tellin' the truth
If I lie, may I die in the middle of the verse
My hustle from first to first
Twelve months in a year
Gun on your waist, Blunt in your ear
Pat in your sock, Trade at the back of the block
With a fein watchin' for knorx till the s**t get dark
We jump in the hoop ride, instead of the six
While you lookin' for a b*tch, we lookin' for a brick
That we can cook by six and give the whole block a fix
Catch me on "?" gettin' sixty a shift
Holidy Styles, nigg* I aint nothin' but streets
Just as hard as the s**t, that be under your feet
And the only time i front is with a blunt and a beat
To show that I'm nice and they aint fkin' wit me

Chorus

Felony
Cop c*ck Heavily
That'd arm rob seventy
You know
Murderin'
You want doe, they servin' you
Stay on fifth, Gettin' swervin' on
You know
Wheather we ryde or we die we gonna get this doe

Verse 2

All I know is drugs and guns
and plenty of weed
and that b*tch that suck d*ck
and that bleed
and if you're rich before you go
get a watch and a drop
you better hit the court house
and better bail out the block
if your son aint worth s**t
'll smuggle your daughter
I come through in a Porshe
The same color as water
I got weight, what you want
I can cover the order
They call me Boss when I cross the border
Six shot "caught her?"
I hear say my face is screwed
But I'll put six in your stomach nigg*
lace your food
Scream "fk Every Rapper" that hate that I'm rude
But that's that SP s**t, you can take it or move
We can let the bullets spill, till we all get killed
There's only six nice rappers
If you wanna be real
die everyday from talking that dumb s**t
That where they're from s**t
All that mean to me is you can get your gun quick
Just another dumb b*tch
Go to church to get the holy ghost
I did my dirt and got the holy ghost
Look at the world through a eyes
Dont be a b*tch, you gonna live and die
Rivin' in the sky, but no love when you slither by
I pray to god that we make it to heaven
But the only thing we makin' is channel eleven
You know four, five and seven, hot as fk
And every rapper be dead, if they were hotter than us
But since still alive they should be tellin you somethin'
You aint hear from Holiday, he aint tellin' you nothin'
You know.. ..

Chorus (2x)
(skit)