Mr. Brown - Styles of Beyond

Oh, yeah, who wanna rip with Styles?

The whole place on the look out for Mr. Brown

We got plenty of clues and forensic files

Plus, areas cool so we trip for miles

It’s (Mister Brown!)

Yeah, you know the drill

Never holdin' em still

Roll 'em over the hill just slide

Close 'em out and open the blinds

Clip the wings off a bird and let it float to the side

Say (What?) they here me callin'

Shoutin' out my name I’m playin' this in the Walkman.

Verse 2 (Ryu)

Aiyo, Crash the gates

Aiyo, Pack the place up

Break stuff, takin' all the paper

I’mmma stay laced up

Keep a shank tucked, take a pay cut

Even let you keep the dang pay stub (Really?)

Say somethin' punk, what?

Put away the blank gun

Fakes wanna talk about bank, but they make none

Live from the sweat box

Sucka know the props up, pop some

Lookin' for the foxhunt, peace.

Chorus x 2

«Bust shots, full clip one up in the chamber, Danger!

You know how we comin'

Rock forty inch cables

What is really with that though

Dick Blower»

Verse 3 (Ryu)

Yo, the joke’s over

Slap the bloke sober (Uh)

Catch a forty caliber case of glaucoma

Rider’s like Johnny Depp rollin' with Winona

Big trunk full of shit, blow the globe up

So what, nobody knows us got no love

Pop six, Ryu and Tak, cops know what it does

Hot shit, by the bungalow, drop the bloody glove

And won’t get caught killin' today baby, cause I’m a thug

Verse 4 (Tak)

Bottles of bear on the land of five horses

Man who wasn’t there like Billy Bob Thornton

Crush-crew landin' in steppin in to the scene

Fertilize newborns a Requiem for A Dream

It’s (Mister Brown) legendary assignment (hah!)

Search lights hover but can’t seem to find him

Track down whatever you can in the mist

In this case it’s the strictly the hand over fist

So (What?) keep your eyes peeled, post and look

Fresh, like Mammoth and Idea, hope to hook.

Verse 5 (Ryu)

Aiyo what’s up, takin' the blows

Plus Jack, whoever want it with us get slapped up (Uh)

Let it be known, Mr. Brown got somethin' to bust

The blue steel touchin' his nuts

The pump got a sick mind of it’s own (Oh)

Crackin' the globe like the edible egg

A nuclear rap bazooka with incredible aim

Who can you blame, I’m a troop cooped in a cage

And it’s a thin line between a chipped tooth and a fang, come on.

(You guy’s goin' to get liquor?)

Verse 6 (Tak)

Yo, it’s just one of those things (Yeah)

Where you wanna ride but it just don’t swing (What?)

Wanna kick a rhyme, but it just don’t bang (Ha)

Oh, you’ve got that new shit that still sounds played

Yo, it’s just one of those things (Yeah)

Where you wanna ride but it just don’t swing (What?)

Wanna kick a rhyme, but it just don’t bang (Ha)

Oh, you’ve got that new shit that still sounds played

Chorus