Yeah L-O-X nigga It don't stop It keep goin, and goin, and goin, and goin Motherfuckers
You heard it from the P, you oughta know it's the truth I get you kidnapped and raped and thrown off a roof You could nod your head to this like it's only a rap Cause when these bullets hit yo' ass I'm like it's only a gat I need a funeral to feel good, I'm hopin it's yours Think he religious? Heard he got shot in the cross Holiday Styles, bitch I broke most of the laws Fuck with the Porsche or flip to the boots, stick to the truth Do anything it takes just to get me this loot 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 ain't no controllin the wrist And niggas leave the room when they hear the P flowin to Swizz I'm an ignorant and negative nigga I sell crack, bust guns, pop shit, and say I'm better than niggas You think not, I'll look at your man and level a nigga If you think a rapper's better why don't 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, I'm the nigga to call Five eight and three quarters, but I'm bigger than y'all If I left the gun home, I'm a give you the sword I'm the devil in the flesh, I can't give you the Lord It don't 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 don't care if I sell, y'all know what I sell HOLIDAY I use my left hand when I'm loadin the shells HOLIDAY Cause I know it ain't right, that's why I'm blowin a L
Yo... I do it all for my niggas, even ride with a bomb Get shot, die in his arm, and give him my last It's a million dollar bail, I'm a get it in cash I sell crack like it's '88, I live in the past You know the P carry the gun, live in the Maz' Tell niggas show me the money and gimme the stash I like Malibu and pineapple, fifties of hash Hundreds of 'dro, wear my clothes a week in a row Sleep on the floor, catch me right next to the dog I'm Holiday Styles, and that's what the weaponry for And I probably won't blow for the fact that I'm hard But I'm 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 ain't part of the plans I keep weight on the scale cause 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 don't gas him up I get his length and his width and get his casket cut I don't deal with the snakes and fakes But I deal with the comas and wakes, I don't make mistakes Double R now bitch you oughta know I'm a ghost Blow up your face, blow up the coke, and blow up the smoke
