Styles P – Story Of Holiday Lyrics

Let’s go machine
Its actually four-twenty right now, I’m on my shit
Let’s go
Blicky hit niggas like sixty can hit niggas
If I clip half the city, you think they would miss niggas
To tell the truth, I’m just sellin’ juice, try’na loosen up
Come to that weight or that H, I’ma stupid f**k
Simply know the rules, do to them what they do to us
Step up on the set, rep my set, yeah, I threw it up
Right before I blew it up
We can do it to the death
Letter is addressed to rap niggas, yeah, the two of us
You can bring the crew, I’ll kill ’em all, yeah, I’m true as f**k
Know I keep it trill, split your grill, try to glue it up
Ora’s explorer or the dark side
You don’t know the fright, split ya face like [?] died
He don’t get the drift, split his shit to the white meat
Hop up in the Uber or a Lyft lookin’ shiesty
I just wanna watch ’em but his watch is a nice piece
A robbery can turn to a homi within light-speed
I was on my positive vibe, there went the old Ghost
Seen niggas shot tryna score not at the goal post
Old school sledgehammer niggas, leave ya toes broke
Smack a rapper right on a yacht, that’s a show boat
Zoned out smokin a O, That’s a Ozone
Up all night for that money, f**k a No-Doz
You don’t sniff around in my business or have no nose
Cut that shit off with a blade or a four-four
Ask about Holiday but after the holiday
Back in for the win but now that the holiday
Prolly the hideaway that you can’t locate
They oughta make Styles Bape sweats how I go ape
Now you know I kick the hardest shit out, check the catalog, God
You can see what the artist about, in high school it was Nautica, Ralph
Now its exotic soft shit while I’m in the loft orderin’ out
I feel the soul of Rich Porter abound & Larry Davis son
A bunch of emcees I air all of ’em out
We outta dis motha f**ka
Ghost, nigga

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