Superstars (Styles of Beyond)

Aiyyo, first things first It's time to shake ground in the eighth round Box battle and break down For the beak in the rhyme tone jump in the cyclone S-T-Y-L-E-S, yes I know Give the rap phene vaccine packed red beam Put 'em up, what the fuck You plucked a bad seed Off the wall, spittin' the guerilla tag team What's up now, duck down stuff that can't breathe Yo- you know the routine, the demon effect Please, don't step, you wanna be one of my pet peeves The more beef the better; sound gay But you all wanna sleep together, ok In the club we gon' sneak berrettas Why not? We got so much street credit, the fuckin' police let us Now that's bullshit, cause we don't pack heat So come and get your head crackin' up at me Kick it- movin' it's on now Making it punk loud Shaking the buck wild Rapin' the punk style Fakin' the funk pal Dunk watch the punk What now? Watch your battleship get sunk down Click (click) pow (pow) knocked (knocked) out (out) What? Just what I thought, what's up now? Hu- Hu- bugs out through the speaker dap-dap dabbin' the track with both hands I'm like Hu-hu- bugs out through the speaker dap-dap dabbin' the track with both hands Hold it down, never give in Styles ever get limbs Or whether you want it to end Dirty seringe, I murder 'em again 97 serving them sins Uh 30 your friends get knocked out, turbulent wind Hopped out, what you want, big verb in the gin I'm a fish; you can tell by the flippers or fins C'mon Yo- I got a rock style Pivot the offspring and joke with 'em With a distorted gist off string Who am i? Rushin' what leg? who and Tak? Pushin' your bed hotter than Quebec in July Area 51, stereo, rive gun live Here we go, S-O-B drop some For the kids in the hall with the new block tape Blast from both angles like boom dock saint So get up get up and let the sound hit ya Snap it's already ya style picture (Lot electrical) Who the hell wear splittin' the belly up on a selfish Shinnin' in your style playin' the fell blitz Drillin' your brain, like rap and video games Feel the seringe for the styles that stickin' in your brain Yo- what kind of shit is he on Really is styles, really be on C'mon punk fuck off; You really gotta be gone Ripped out of your brain Pissed covered in shit to diss this S-O-B game Son of a bitch I'ma start killin' for kicks There ain't an air force 1 inn the globe I can't fig, get it? I'm sick with it, when I spit the venom And it drip's up in 'em And it get's the women in a Quick dilemma; We can settle it now And I don't know who did it but they said it was styles bugs out through the speaker dap-dap dabbin' the track with both hands bugs out through the speaker dap-dap dabbin' the track with both hands