Styles P - Rude Boy Hip Hop Lyrics
That 187 when the ghost on spreeI like the toy rappers run for cover tonightIt's 187 when the lights on spreeIt's that rude boy hip hop, New York shit that you likeVocals out of the windpipe is giving you insightReal New York nigga, that's word to the pin stripesCan't fly the kite 'less the wind rightBlow the city up then skip on that Jeremy Lim lightYeah, I'm a shooter like Glen RiceLong range and the Range the color of cornWatching the Bull gameLike bird in the garden with the leprechaunsEverything is money, upper echelonCheaper than the food in a Chinese restaurantOn the corner in the hoodThey come to body a man, you'd warn them if you couldIf you can't you body them niggas and leave 'em in the woodsFaith before favor, lighten our senses since Scarface hereNiggas will kill your family for Scarface breadI'm on suicide dough, SP, the ghost on coast with no strap flowWhat upThat 187 when the ghost on spreeI like the toy rappers run for cover tonightIt's 187 when the lights on spreeIt's that rude boy hip hop, New York shit that you likeLyricist, the weed is the therapist, the therapy'Cause my pedigree is higher than yours will ever beDevil got kicked out of heaven because of jealousyBalls is like mental telepathy with melodyNiggas can't measure my wave lengthPlaying Max B when I'm pounding the pavementYou should get paid off the shit you engaged inFresh every day like the shit's an occasionTell my son to do what I say, don't do what I doDid shit I shouldn't have done for a dollar or twoAnd you'll always be the leader, never follow the crewStudy today then peep what tomorrow could doAnd you keep your ears open for wise wordsThe bird's the only animal that's meant to fly first'Cause you crawl before you walk and you walk before you runAnd you fly around the world and you shine like you the sunThat 187 when the ghost on spreeI like the toy rappers run for cover tonightIt's 187 when the lights on spreeIt's that rude boy hip hop, New York shit that you like
