Ruff Ryders: Holiday

YeahL O X niggaIt don't stopIt keep goin, and goin, and goin, and goinMotherfuckers[Styles Paniro]You heard it from the P, you oughta know it's the truthI get you kidnapped and raped and thrown off a roofYou could nod your head to this like it's only a rapCuz when these bullets hit your ass I'm like it's only a gatI need a funeral to feel god, I'm hopin it's yoursThink you religious, heard he got shot in the crossHoliday Styles, bitch I broke most of the lawsFuck with the poor, so flip to the boots, stick to the truthDo anything it takes just to get to this loot!And missin a tooth, but both of 'em chipped, told you the scriptYou heard about the trouble, I start most of the shitWhen I squeeze aint no controllin the wristAnd niggas leave the room when the hear the P flowin with swissI'm an ignorant and negative niggaI sell crack, bust guns, pop shit, and say I'm better than niggasYou think not, I'll look at your man and level a niggaIf you think a rapper's better why don't you give me his nameSo I can run up on him, tear him up and give you his frameWhen it comes to the streets, I'm the nigga to callFive eight and three quarters, but I'm bigger than y'allIf I left the gun home, I'ma give you the swordI'm the devil in the flesh, I can't give you the LordIt don't make no sense for you to pray for your lifeI got my niggas in the crib, you oughta pray for your wifeCHORUS: Jadakiss and StylesJadakiss: Uh huh, HOLIDAYStyles: I gotta make it to heaven for goin through hellJ: HOLIDAYS: And I don't care if I sell, y'all know what I sellJ: HOLIDAYS: I use my left hand when I'm loadin the shellsJ: HOLIDAYS: Cuz I know it aint right, that's why I'm blowin a L[Styles Paniro]Yo, I do it all for my niggas, even ride wit a bombGet shot, die in his arm, and give him my lastIt's a million dollar bail, I'ma get it in cashI sell crack like it's '88, I live in the pastYou know the P carry the gun, live in the maskTell niggas show me the money and gimme the stashI like malibu and pineapple, fifty's of hashHundred's of dro, wear my clothes a week in a rowSleep on the floor, catch me right next to the doorI'm Holiday Styles, and that's what the weaponry forAnd I probably won't blow for the fact that I'm hardBut I'm good with ten million in the back of the carEither that or get life and lift the rack in the yardGettin jewels from the old timers, stashin the cardsBut jail aint part of the plansI keep weight on the scale cuz I feel I get further with gramsIn my last few bars, I run through niggas like my last few carsAnd crash 'em up, the boy mighta went platinum but don't gas him upI get his length and his width and get his casket cutI don't deal with the snakes and fakesBut I deal with the comas and wakes, I don't make mistakesDouble R now bitch you oughta know I'ma ghostBlow up your face, blow up the coke, and blow up the smokeCHORUS