Maestro Fresh Wes - How Many Styles Lyrics
Intro [maestro fresh wes]Its the power move (yeah)Its the power move (yeah)Peace to the power move (yeah)Its the master plan (word)PeaceTo the master plan (yeah)1994 baby, the maestro wild like a psychoThats how we doChorus [maestro fresh wes]It goes in with the fat, out with the wackIn with the fat out with the wackYou niggas cant rap, so I want my money backCan you dig it? (I can dig it), can you dig it? (I can dig it)In with the fat, out with the wackIn with the fat out with the wackYou niggas cant rap, so I want my money backCan you dig it? (I can dig it), can you dig it? (I can dig it)[maestro fresh wes]Yo, I walk tall like hanibal adleyHit a grand slam like my man don mattinglyCome prepared if you ever try to battle me (why)I got rhymes coming out my*****cavityStraight outta scarboroughReady to swing blows, niggas want to quitWash my nuts and my windowsIm on your tape decks, rhyming to my apexIf a nigga dont like he can bite me with a latexBecause when Im rhyming, heads are decliningLike brian mulroney, niggas are resigningCompetition aint in front of meMaestro whered you get all thses dope rhymes from?I dont know, they just come to meYou *****ing with a crazy brotherI dont kiss and tell, but I know your baby motherI aint bullshittingMmm, why did gill cook a mean curry chickenTime for me to get mad check(? )So wack mother*****ers step to the leftIm fat like a cadillac, cut like a battle axeI got crazy freaks, wash from bc to halifaxYeah, now the maest is knownThis beats alright, but now I thknk I want a xylophoneWith my cipher grown, many mics are blownYoure in the maestro zoneNow I gotta flow, hurdle any obstacleRhyme to show, and clock the doughSo many people try to stop the broBut I smoke competition like an octago(? )Its maestro!, fresh w-e-s big up to fly ju(? ) and my nigga big jessYes, my peeps from 1-6-2I met her last summer on jamaica avenueNow every beat I made is a hitBut tell me, how many styles can one nigga flip?Yeah, ha haChorus[maestro fresh wes]From the lungs of the maestro, hail the funk hail the phelgmNiggas getting grim everytime I beginTo bring the funk to radio stations to bump meYou should have never let my ass into your countryWord to god, Im real hardIm even deadlier than tony montana with a green card***** you and your demo tapeInstead of tryin to imitate... innovateI pull the mic but I dont pull cardsBust your ass plus julio down by the schoolyardDont try dissing me, because your style is historyIm packing more flavour than the kernels(sp? ) rotisserieI injure bone and I injure limbsIve come a long way like virgina slimsI do a show with the bandstand, never met the sandmanChicks with the big tits give me a gland stand(? )Older broads want to jock me, elanor from fox wants my rockLet me stop, and burn stylesChumps want to turn wild, you say you got dopeBut why was your pops jumping turnstilesYou aint got money *laughter*Im so dope, this shits funnyAll my jams is the shitsBut tell me how many styles can one nigga flip?Outro [maestro fresh wes]Yeah, 1994 babyBrother maestroI want to say whats up to my people, scarboroughJane the finch, jungle, flemington park, everywhereYou know what Im sayingToronto flavour, catching mad wrizzech in efizzect
