Not to be Fucked With

[Verse 1: Styles] Another small town cat with a million dollar fetish Learned my first lesson In jail from a peasant Always seem pleasant Happy to be present Said he past due, shouldn't have been in the essence Streets is like your girl, treat it like your wife You can flirt around with drugs, but don't hit the pipe You can mess around with guns but death ain't right Hold your breath, next step, cause life ain't right If you with the wrong cats then your cyph ain't tight Styles hit the darkside, show them the light Life ended to the ice that freezes emcees Friend of the flame, burn 'em in one game Tell oxygen he ain't hopping in He a lil' time nigga, I ain't thinking of stopping him Catch up first, you stretch up worse than them Been experts and did less work than them With no album, we net worth more than them These cats didn't think that The L.O.X. could do it I got a hundred different styles and they all congruent I'm the ghost of this shit, I provide you fluid That'll crack sidewalks and rise the sewers You got some fly shit, but my shit Is like the whole city falling out the sky, bitch Loud crash, I'm the quiet loud ass Quick to set it off on your fucking foul ass Make six digits eight and cop a palace Make every rapper sick and call me malice Y'all niggas never know what the Styles have Some shit in the stash that would crack a cow's back In a hundred pieces in they ass, and how's that Never answer back, I'm the cancer on the track Just think, I could blink, and make the Pink Panther black [Hook x2] [Jada] Who's not to be fucked with [S.P.] That's me [Jada] Who's to be fucked with [S.P.] That's them [S.P.] Why don't you watch my back while I go ask them [Jada] And if they want beef later on I splash them [S.P.] And if they want to flow, right now I thrash them [S.P.] Should I give it to them new style or old fashion [Verse 2: Styles] Do I have to break down the walls, stay off the floor I'm the general dog, I start the war Make every emcee never spit again when I leave 'em empty No guts, no chest, no brain, no game Styles go broke, I'ma rob the folk train I feel no pain, steal cocaine Fuck black thugs that run through whole gangs Anytime that I want it nigga, better listen Blunt is the magic wand, I'm the magician Styles is the virus, ain't no physician With an anecdote that can stop my collision Before you start asking, I'ma start splashing When I come through, it's like ten planes crashing Twenty ships, full of thugs, all of them is bastards Mashed up, looking through binocs, about to crash in What's the next issue, shit get official Call Steven Spielberg, cop skin tissue So you could rock disguise when feds come and get you Next question is where NASA at We need a hundred jeeps that fly when traffic's packed Bustin down on the crabs with plasma gats Tell you right now you can't fuck with Pinero I make a lot of space when it seem real narrow Sagittarius style, spitting out arrows Hundred at a time, killing a hundred heroes [Hook]