Rude Boy Hip Hop - Styles P, Raheem DeVaughn

That 187 when the ghost on spree

I like the toy rappers run for cover tonight

It’s 187 when the lights on spree

It’s that rude boy hip hop, New York shit that you like

Vocals out of the windpipe is giving you insight

Real New York nigga, that’s word to the pin stripes

Can’t fly the kite less the wind right

Blow the city up then skip on that Jeremy Lin light

Yeah, I’m a shooter like Glen Rice

Long range and the Range the color of corn

Watching the Bull game

Like bird in the garden with the leprechauns

Everything is money, upper echelon

Cheaper than the food in a Chinese restaurant

On the corner in the hood

They come to body a man, you’d warn them if you could

If you can’t you body them niggas and leave 'em in the woods

Faith before favor, lighten our senses since Scarface here

Niggas will kill your family for Scarface bread

I’m on suicide dough, SP, the ghost on coast with no strap flow

What up

That 187 when the ghost on spree

I like the toy rappers run for cover tonight

It’s 187 when the lights on spree

It’s that rude boy hip hop, New York shit that you like

Lyricist, the weed is the therapist, the therapy

Cause my pedigree is higher than yours will ever be

Devil got kicked out of heaven because of jealousy

Balls is like mental telepathy with melody

Niggas can’t measure my wave length

Playing Max B when I’m pounding the pavement

You should get paid off the shit you engaged in

Fresh every day like the shit’s an occasion

Tell my son to do what I say, don’t do what I do

Did shit I shouldn’t have done for a dollar or two

And you’ll always be the leader, never follow the crew

Study today then peep what tomorrow could do

And you keep your ears open for wise words

The bird’s the only animal that’s meant to fly first

Cause you crawl before you walk and you walk before you run

And you fly around the world and you shine like you the sun

That 187 when the ghost on spree

I like the toy rappers run for cover tonight

It’s 187 when the lights on spree

It’s that rude boy hip hop, New York shit that you like