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Verse 1 (Tak) |
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(Shout out my name, you bitch) |
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Oh, yeah, who wanna rip with Styles? |
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The whole place on the look out for Mr. Brown |
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We got plenty of clues and forensic files |
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Plus, areas cool so we trip for miles |
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It's (Mister Brown!) |
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Yeah, you know the drill |
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Never holdin' em still |
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Roll 'em over the hill just slide |
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Close 'em out and open the blinds |
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Clip the wings off a bird and let it float to the side |
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Say (What?) they here me callin' |
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Shoutin' out my name I'm playin' this in the Walkman. |
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Verse 2 (Ryu) |
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Aiyo, Crash the gates |
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Aiyo, Pack the place up |
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Break stuff, takin' all the paper |
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I'mmma stay laced up |
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Keep a shank tucked, take a pay cut |
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Even let you keep the dang pay stub (Really?) |
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Say somethin' punk, what? |
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Put away the blank gun |
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Fakes wanna talk about bank, but they make none |
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Live from the sweat box |
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Sucka know the props up, pop some |
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Lookin' for the foxhunt, peace. |
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Chorus x 2 |
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"Bust shots, full clip one up in the chamber, Danger! |
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You know how we comin' |
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Rock forty inch cables |
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What is really with that though |
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Dick Blower" |
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Verse 3 (Ryu) |
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Yo, the joke's over |
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Slap the bloke sober(Uh) |
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Catch a forty caliber case of glaucoma |
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Rider's like Johnny Depp rollin' with Winona |
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Big trunk full of shit, blow the globe up |
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So what, nobody knows us got no love |
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Pop six, Ryu and Tak, cops know what it does |
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Hot shit, by the bungalow, drop the bloody glove |
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And won't get caught killin' today baby, cause I'm a thug |
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Verse 4 (Tak) |
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Bottles of bear on the land of five horses |
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Man who wasn't there like Billy Bob Thornton |
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Crush-crew landin' in steppin in to the scene |
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Fertilize newborns a Requiem for A Dream |
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It's (Mister Brown) legendary assignment (hah!) |
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Search lights hover but can't seem to find him |
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Track down whatever you can in the mist |
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In this case it's the strictly the hand over fist |
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So (What?) keep your eyes peeled, post and look |
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Fresh, like Mammoth and Idea, hope to hook. |
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Verse 5 (Ryu) |
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Aiyo what's up, takin' the blows |
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Plus Jack, whoever want it with us get slapped up (Uh) |
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Let it be known, Mr. Brown got somethin' to bust |
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The blue steel touchin' his nuts |
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The pump got a sick mind of it's own (Oh) |
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Crackin' the globe like the edible egg |
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A nuclear rap bazooka with incredible aim |
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Who can you blame, I'm a troop cooped in a cage |
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And it's a thin line between a chipped tooth and a fang, come on. |
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(You guy's goin' to get liquor?) |
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Verse 6 (Tak) |
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Yo, it's just one of those things (Yeah) |
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Where you wanna ride but it just don't swing (What?) |
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Wanna kick a rhyme, but it just don't bang(Ha) |
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Oh, you've got that new shit that still sounds played |
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Yo, it's just one of those things (Yeah) |
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Where you wanna ride but it just don't swing (What?) |
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Wanna kick a rhyme, but it just don't bang(Ha) |
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Oh, you've got that new shit that still sounds played |
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Chorus |
