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jean grae - style wars كلمات الأغنية

[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
sl-ts 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
f-ck 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 c-mmerbund 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 handb-lls and lose you in a booth or stall
you’re a lukewarm goof-off with loot galore
and i’ll p–p scoop your fans and shoot them all
i give a d-mn, 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 f-ck 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 f-cking with mine
it’s just sucking your own d-ck like i’m tucking your spine
cry me a river, n-gga. they’ll find you in ipanema
tied to a line with a leech in your liver
on a beach with a b-tch from the song, grinding limes
and your smashed t–th, 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 f-cking switchblade—l!ck me
don’t fixate on a picture, n-gga—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

[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
n-ggas 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 sh-t 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?

[outro: jean grae]
aight, one last shot
godd-mn giuliani
shuttin’ down clubs at four o’clock in the morning
can’t get no alcohol
b-tch!

- jean grae

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