How Many Styles Lyrics - Naah, Dis Kid Can't Be From Canada?!! - Maestro Fresh Wes

It's the power move (yeah) 

It's the power move (yeah) 

Peace to the power move (yeah) 

It's the master plan (word) 

Peace 

To the master plan (yeah) 

1994 baby, the Maestro wild like a psycho 

That's how we do 

It goes in with the fat, out with the wack 

In with the fat out with the wack 

You niggas can't rap, so I want my money back 

Can you dig it? (I can dig it), can you dig it? (I can dig it) 

In with the fat, out with the wack 

In with the fat out with the wack 

You niggas can't rap, so I want my money back 

Can you dig it? (I can dig it), can you dig it? (I can dig it) 

Yo, I walk tall like Hanibal Adley 

Hit a grand slam like my man Don Mattingly 

Come prepared if you ever try to battle me (why) 

I got rhymes coming out my anal cavity 

Straight outta Scarborough 

Ready to swing blows, niggas want to quit 

Wash my nuts and my windows 

I'm on your tape decks, rhyming to my apex 

If a nigga don't like he can bite me with a latex 

Because when I'm rhyming, heads are declining 

Like Brian Mulroney, niggas are resigning 

Competition ain't in front of me 

Maestro where'd you get all these dope rhymes from? 

I don't know, they just come to me 

You fucking with a crazy brother 

I don't kiss and tell, but I know your baby mother 

I ain't bullshitting 

Mmm, why did Gill cook a mean Curry Chicken 

Time for me to get mad check(?) 

So wack motherfuckers step to the left 

I'm fat like a Cadillac, cut like a battle axe 

I got crazy freaks, wash from BC to Halifax 

Yeah, now the Maest is known 

This beats alright, but now I thknk I want a xylophone 

With my cipher grown, many mics are blown 

You're in the Maestro zone 

Now I gotta flow, hurdle any obstacle 

Rhyme to show, and clock the dough 

So many people try to stop the bro 

But I smoke competition like an octago(?) 

It's Maestro!, Fresh W-E-S big up to fly Ju(?) and my nigga big Jess 

Yes, my peeps from 1-6-2 

I met her last summer on Jamaica Avenue 

Now every beat I made is a hit 

But tell me, how many styles can one nigga flip? 

Yeah, ha ha 

From the lungs of the Maestro, hail the funk hail the phelgm 

Niggas getting grim every time I begin 

To bring the funk to radio stations to bump me 

You should have never let my ass into your country 

Word to God, I'm real hard 

I'm even deadlier than Tony Montana with a green card 

Fuck you and your demo tape 

Instead of tryin' to imitate, innovate 

I pull the mic but I don't pull cards 

Bust your ass plus Julio down by the schoolyard 

Don't try dissing me, because your style is history 

I'm packing more flavour than the kernel's(sp?) rotisserie 

I injure bone and I injure limbs 

I've come a long way like Virgina SLims 

I do a show with the Bandstand, never met the sandman 

Chicks with the big tits give me a gland stand(?) 

Older broads want to jock me, Elanor from Fox wants my rock 

Let me stop, and burn styles 

Chumps want to turn wild, you say you got dope 

But why was your pops jumping turnstiles 

You ain't got money 

I'm so dope, this shit's funny 

All my jams is the shits 

But tell me how many styles can one nigga flip? 

Yeah, 1994 baby 

Brother Maestro 

I want to say what's up to my people, Scarborough 

Jane the Finch, Jungle, Flemington Park, everywhere 

You know what I'm saying 

Toronto flavor, catching mad wrizzech in efizzect