Style Wars - Jean Grae: Song Lyrics, Music Videos & Concerts

Style Wars

394

Hip-Hop/Rap

Style Wars was released on September 21, 2004 by Babygrande Records as a part of the album This Week

Song Details

Release DateSeptember 21, 2004

LabelBabygrande Records

Melodicness

Acousticness

Valence

Danceability

Energy

BPM90

OVERVIEW

LYRICS

Music Video

Music Video

Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS

Jean Grae

Rap

Block McCloud

Performer

COMPOSITION & LYRICS

Tsidi Ibrahim

Songwriter

PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING

Jean Grae

Producer

Lyrics

Man, I pray y'all still

Catching the heat, spill

Mash in your grill and potato smash and your caps peeled—feel it?

Like a teen under bleachers

Valley girls, pep rally cheerleaders

Sluts named Sally either

You're brain-dead or your veins pump nothing

If you ain't saying Jean's bumping, name ain't puffing

Suckas rain-ducking. You'll be running, your frame tucked in

To the pain like I'm Wesley in the King—say something, nukka

Fuck you and the mayor

Dunk on you like a Rutgers player, cut abrupt your layup

I got a luxury layer that needs bucks to pay up

So when I jux y'all, I'm aiming for the cummerbund layers

Son of a gun, she's a hundred-and-one tons—heavy

Chase paper like my momma done named her hon "Chevy"

Cornflakers. I'll roofie tall

Like I'm handballs and lose you in a booth or stall

You're a lukewarm goof-off with loot galore

And I'll poop scoop your fans and shoot them all

I give a damn, I'll abuse the law

Get Judge Mathis in a blindfold, feed him wine, lead him to traffic—awwww

[Hook: Block McCloud] (x2)

We don't have to bust rounds to shut the club down

She'll come for you, hunt ya punks down like blood hounds

Ayyo, it's Jean to the Grae—we like, "What the fuck now?!?"

Cups up—now chug it down, then spread some love around

Triple-6 soul with a gold wiffle bat

That I hold... and a sickle pole, taped to my back

You fold. Your hands not fucking with mine

It's just sucking your own dick like I'm tucking your spine

Cry me a river, ****. They'll find you in Ipanema

Tied to a line with a leech in your liver

On a beach with a bitch from the song, grinding limes

And your smashed teeth, laughing, while you're screaming and crying

Loose-lipped, who figured this chick'll be

So obtuse with it to flip it this way (Hey!)

My mind sharper than a fucking switchblade—lick me

Don't fixate on a picture, ****—switch page

I'm Daft, Punk. Stab you with a catheter

With an open pen, then put the cap right back in ya

You're tappin' a life. You ain't attackin' it right

I go platinum with no dough and half of your life, dummy

[Hook: Block McCloud] (x2)

We don't have to bust rounds to shut the club down

She'll come for you, hunt ya punks down like blood hounds

Ayyo, it's Jean to the Grae—we like, "What the fuck now?!?"

Cups up—now chug it down, then spread some love around

Listen up: I'm Cisco mixed with whiskey

I know the security—they won't frisk me

I'm made of material that bounces off

Your mouth talks of the foulness, crowds you walk. When it

Deflects back and it hits your limbs

'Til your reflexes slack and you kick up ya tims

It's all personal

Maybe when I'm pulling your purse strings

Cut your life short like nurses at birthings

Curse you with one less finger than Oprah

To Danny Glover in purple, your purpose is over

No soldier could stop it—war's 'bout to be poppin'

I'm like a broken faucet. You should just forfeit—you lost it

Stick a fork into you—you're done

**** with a spork in they lungs, walk awkwardly—I'm warning you

Before you could step to the death of you

Nerve of you—talking shit with Jean right next to you

I'm restless. In one second, I could arrest you

Wait, I'm giving lessons on what the best can do

Catch you hiding in a darkened vestibule

Slit your neck open from your chest—who's next to duel?

[Hook: Block McCloud] (x2)

We don't have to bust rounds to shut the club down

She'll come for you, hunt ya punks down like blood hounds

Ayyo, it's Jean to the Grae—we like, "What the fuck now?!?"

Cups up—now chug it down, then spread some love around

Aight, one last shot

Goddamn Giuliani

Shuttin' down clubs at four o'clock in the morning

Can't get no alcohol

Bitch!

Written by: Tsidi Ibrahim

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