How Many Styles

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 niggas 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 niggas 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 anal cavity

Straight outta Scarborough

Ready to swing blows, niggas want to quit

Wash my nuts and my windows

I'm on your tape decks, rhyming to my apex

If a nigga don't like he can bite me with a latex

Because when I'm rhyming, heads are declining

Like Brian Mulroney, niggas 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 fucking with a crazy brother

I don't kiss and tell, but I know your baby mother

I ain't bullshitting

Mmm, why did Gill cook a mean Curry Chicken

Time for me to get mad check(?)

So wack motherfuckers 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 nigga 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 nigga flip?

Yeah, ha ha

CHORUS

[Maestro Fresh Wes]

From the lungs of the Maestro, hail the funk hail the phelgm

Niggas getting grim everytime I begin

To bring the funk to radio stations to bump me

You should have never let my ass into your country

Word to God, I'm real hard

I'm even deadlier than Tony Montana with a green card

Fuck you and your demo tape

Instead of tryin' to imitate... innovate

I pull the mic but I don't pull cards

Bust your ass 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 shit's funny

All my jams is the shits

But tell me how many styles can one nigga 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