Style Wars

[Verse 1: Jean Grae] Man, I pray y'all still Catching the heat, spill Mash in your grill and potato smash and your caps peeled—feel it? Like a teen under bleachers Valley girls, pep rally cheerleaders Sluts named Sally either You're brain-dead or your veins pump nothing If you ain't saying Jean's bumping, name ain't puffing Suckas rain-ducking. You'll be running, your frame tucked in To the pain like I'm Wesley in the King—say something, nukka Fuck you and the mayor Dunk on you like a Rutgers player, cut abrupt your layup I got a luxury layer that needs bucks to pay up So when I jux y'all, I'm aiming for the cummerbund layers Son of a gun, she's a hundred-and-one tons—heavy Chase paper like my momma done named her hon "Chevy" Cornflakers. I'll roofie tall Like I'm handballs and lose you in a booth or stall You're a lukewarm goof-off with loot galore And I'll poop scoop your fans and shoot them all I give a damn, I'll abuse the law Get Judge Mathis in a blindfold, feed him wine, lead him to traffic—awwww [Hook: Block McCloud] (x2) We don't have to bust rounds to shut the club down She'll come for you, hunt ya punks down like blood hounds Ayyo, it's Jean to the Grae—we like, "What the fuck now?!?" Cups up—now chug it down, then spread some love around [Verse 2: Jean Grae] Triple-6 soul with a gold wiffle bat That I hold... and a sickle pole, taped to my back You fold. Your hands not fucking with mine It's just sucking your own dick like I'm tucking your spine Cry me a river, nigga. They'll find you in it [?] Tied to a line with a leech in your liver On a beach with a bitch from the song, grinding limes And your smashed teeth, laughing, while you're screaming and crying Loose-lipped, who figured this chick'll be So obtuse with it to flip it this way (Hey!) My mind sharper than a fucking switchblade—lick me Don't fixate on a picture, nigga—switch page I'm Daft, Punk. Stab you with a catheter With an open pen, then put the cap right back in ya You're tappin' a life. You ain't attackin' it right I go platinum with no dough and half of your life, dummy [Hook: Block McCloud] (x2) We don't have to bust rounds to shut the club down She'll come for you, hunt ya punks down like blood hounds Ayyo, it's Jean to the Grae—we like, "What the fuck now?!?" Cups up—now chug it down, then spread some love around [Verse 3: Jean Grae] Listen up: I'm Cisco mixed with whiskey I know the security—they won't frisk me I'm made of material that bounces off Your mouth talks of the foulness, crowds you walk. When it Deflects back and it hits your limbs 'Til your reflexes slack and you kick up ya tims It's all personal Maybe when I'm pulling your purse strings Cut your life short like nurses at birthings Curse you with one less finger than Oprah To Danny Glover in purple, your purpose is over No soldier could stop it—war's 'bout to be poppin' I'm like a broken faucet. You should just forfeit—you lost it Stick a fork into you—you're done Niggas with a spork in they lungs, walk awkwardly—I'm warning you Before you could step to the death of you Nerve of you—talking shit with Jean right next to you I'm restless. In one second, I could arrest you Wait, I'm giving lessons on what the best can do Catch you hiding in a darkened vestibule Slit your neck open from your chest—who's next to duel? [Hook: Block McCloud] (x2) We don't have to bust rounds to shut the club down She'll come for you, hunt ya punks down like blood hounds Ayyo, it's Jean to the Grae—we like, "What the fuck now?!?" Cups up—now chug it down, then spread some love around [Outro: Jean Grae] Aight, one last shot Goddamn Giuliani Shuttin' down clubs at four o'clock in the morning Can't get no alcohol Bitch!