Holiday Lyrics - Singles - Styles

Yeah 

L-O-X nigga 

It don't stop 

It keep goin, and goin, and goin, and goin 

Motherfuckers 

[Styles Paniro] 

You heard it from the P, you oughta know it's the truth 

I get you kidnapped and raped and thrown off a roof 

You could nod your head to this like it's only a rap 

'Cause when these bullets hit yo' ass I'm like it's only a gat 

I need a funeral to feel good, I'm hopin it's yours 

Think he religious? Heard he got shot in the cross 

Holiday Styles, bitch I broke most of the laws 

Fuck with the Porsche or flip to the boots, stick to the truth 

Do anything it takes just to get me this loot 

And missin' a tooth, but both of 'em chipped, toaster is gripped 

You heard about the trouble, I start most of the shit 

When I squeeze ain't no controllin' the wrist 

And niggas leave the room when they hear the P flowin to Swizz 

I'm an ignorant and negative nigga 

I sell crack, bust guns, pop shit, and say I'm better than niggas 

You think not, I'll look at your man and level a nigga 

If you think a rapper's better why don't you give me his name 

So I can run up on him, tear him up and give you his frame 

When it comes to the streets, I'm the nigga to call 

Five eight and three quarters, but I'm bigger than why'all 

If I left the gun home, I'ma give you the sword 

I'm the devil in the flesh, I can't give you the Lord 

It don't make no sense for you to pray for your life 

I got my niggas in the crib, you oughta pray for your wife 

[Chorus: Jadakiss and Styles] 

Jadakiss: Uh huh, HOLIDAY 

Styles: I gotta make it to heaven for goin through hell 

J: HOLIDAY 

S: And I don't care if I sell, why'all know what I sell 

J: HOLIDAY 

S: I use my left hand when I'm loadin the shells 

J: HOLIDAY 

S: 'cause I know it ain't right, that's why I'm blowin a L 

[Styles Paniro] 

Yo.. 

I do it all for my niggas, even ride wit a bomb 

Get shot, die in his arm, and give him my last 

It's a million dollar bail, I'ma get it in cash 

I sell crack like it's '88, I live in the past 

You know the P carry the gun, live in the Maz' 

Tell niggas show me the money and gimme the stash 

I like Malibu and pineapple, fifties of hash 

Hundreds of 'dro, wear my clothes a week in a row 

Sleep on the floor, catch me right next to the dog 

I'm Holiday Styles, and that's what the weaponry for 

And I probably won't blow for the fact that I'm hard 

But I'm good with ten million in the back of the car 

Either that or get life and lift the rack in the yard 

Gettin' jewels from the old timers, stashin the cards 

But jail ain't part of the plans 

I keep weight on the scale 'cause I feel I get further with grams 

In my last few bars, I run through niggas like my last few cars 

And crash 'em up, the boy mighta went platinum but don't gas him up 

I get his length and his width and get his casket cut 

I don't deal with the snakes and fakes 

But I deal with the comas and wakes, I don't make mistakes 

Double are now bitch you oughta know I'ma ghost 

Blow up your face, blow up the coke, and blow up the smoke 

[Chorus]