G-joint (feat. J-Hood)

[Verse 1: Styles P]

Man I rock the fuck out, though

I don't know about everyone else

Whatever we don't make, we gon' take muh'fucker

Get this straight and fix yo' face

I ain't got to sell millions, I'm in the buildings

where papi comin through with them bricks by 8

Listen cocksucker and clown, I'll be leavin you cut

You're like a dutch, how I'm bustin you down

Niggaz drivin in a circle wit'cha hoe in the back

'll be the only damn way I be fuckin around

And I'm aimin for your waist, hopin you duck

So I can bust you in the head when I'm buckin the pound

And I told you that I'm Holiday Styles, let's celebrate

Heard you gettin money, I'll rob you right now

And you gon' get popped in the head, true story

Crips do they thing in blue gloves, pop off some red

Me, I'm on the move only stopping for bread

Double R and D-Block nigga, copper and lead, whattup

[Verse 2: Styles P]

Stay in the zone

I don't know why the fuck you amped yo

Got hoodrat bitches, carryin birds on the public transpo'

Niggaz in the hoods that go out like Rambo

They hot since 138th had that cancelled

Young buck... dumb fuck

I'm two guns up, "Ryde or Die" 'til the sun's up

"Gangsta and a Gentleman" dog, I got class

I'ma send a bunch a roses to your men in the morgue

I'll be down South bendin a whore, ten in the morn'

Dirty on 85 like Jay, Barnes, Sean Paul

Beef with New York rappers, I'm killin 'em all

On my Slick Rick shit, y'all could "Lick the Balls"

I been cool cause these niggaz is ass, but fuck that

Might as well call me pool cause I'm gettin splashed

And that Lamborghini liftin the stash, even gettin the mass

While some haze to mix with the hash, whattup

[Verse 3: J-Hood]

Pass that blunt nigga!

I'm in the hood where the eggs get knocked off

Gang members find they family members with both of they legs chopped off

Niggaz ain't scrappin, they bangin ya

The judge don't need a tree branch when they hangin ya

All y'all fags'll get ate like clams

Since this is a "Bloodsport" bitch, you could call me J Van Damme

All these so called guerillas be tellin

How a rat gon' give you "Thoughts of a Predicate Felon," muh'fucker

Homey what you want, the blade or the slug

I'm the one that send the order when they sprayed up the club

Bitch nigga, bow your head in the presence of G's

Load the lead up and squeeze; I'm a great dane, niggaz is fleas

Fuckin rats cant wait to call cops

'Til I make 'em sick and put pellets in they mouth like cough drops

J-Hood bitch, my name ring in the ghetto

Cause I'm O.G. and I play the streets like a cello