Lyrics I Know Ya Style - Bad Balance, Trenger, Rocsigar

I Know Ya Style

Double, double eagle Bad Balance
From New York to Moscow
What it look like?
B. Ricks, nigga, Showtime
‘Bout to dance on these niggas
Let’s get it on!
White knight sippin' Stolichnaya, higher than Marley off the kaya
Barron Ricks a pure livewire, no liar
Plus I go there from Harlem World out to Red Square
Startin' fires, bustin' at Jeremy Irons
Yo, I’m a Black Russian, Baryshnikov over percurssians
So stop fussin,' nigga, I’m on, end of discussion
I tote roscoes in Moscows, a rap rōnin
Flow shogun, with Five Deadly Venoms, holdin'
Money and knots foldin,' bitches with twats knowin'
Ay-yo, you step on my heels, my gun blowin'
Niggas is still yellin,' for me to stop like Boris Yeltsin
‘Cause my style is sick, I ain’t bellin,' gremlin
Bustin' big bazookas at the Kremlin, Mr. Ricks
Pass the Absolut and cranberry mix
While we gunnin' for the militia, KGB nigga
We takin' home no prisoners
So let it be, from New York to Moscow
TV-
Yeah (I know ya style)
From New York to Moscow (I know ya style)
(I know ya style)
Them cats on the prowl (I know ya style)
Bad Balance (I know ya style)
I know it (I know ya style)
I know it (I know ya style)
I know, what your type is into, power, right?
More power, facin' crowd power
I see that old coward power
Legalize won’t spaz out, he’ll play with a flower
To rejoin ya, have the reverend preach on ya
I rap snubnose from my
Explode, air ya out, and reload
I don’t know what drugs ya been sold, huh
Nor what schemes ya hold, nor what dreams ya been told
But ya niggas ain’t policin' me, huh
Shoulda got the beast in me
Ya baddest man ain’t reachin' me
It’s the Ročsigar, Ročsigoo
Rock tobacco, rock Havana
Rock cigar, Santana, with the
Bandana wrapped around my forehead
Lookin' for the niggas who jumped my man
So I can clack the power went boom and dwarf the land
You don’t know how I got grimy, gentile
From New York to Moscow, buckwild
If you don’t know my Harlem style
Just grab your man hand, run home and sing it
Or put your life on the line homie and bring it
And find out if a nigga like me make it to heaven
Huh, it won’t be nobody in Hell
(I know ya style)
Bad Balance (I know ya style)
— (I know ya style)
EFF, Bad B. (I know ya style)
(Oh, shit)
Bad Balance (Oh, shit)
(We blast a much fasta)
From the streets to (I know ya style)
From cats on the prowl (I know ya style)
From bags to vials (I know ya style)
From New York to Moscow (I know ya style)
(I know ya style)
(I know ya style)
From New York to Moscow, guns go blaow
The music loud, security movin' the crowd
We drinkin' Jim Beam, light up the mid green
Rolled for cream, throw stones on rings
Tryin' to live exclusive, we put video cameras on computers
Competitors lose futures
My lyrics are disrespectful and sick, I’m spittin' this phlegm
If you with your friend forthright, spit it on him
His sphere might be watchin,' forget it, spit it on them
Scars and Timberlands emblems on them
Internet, the platinum Lex, and the Soviet
Studded BBS, pierced and baguettes
Cobblestones on the neck
The Bolshoi Ballet is where we meet
Speak on Ruska street, University
Pop soda in his
Race boats with no motor
Down Moscow Volga, we movin' like Bolsheviks
With in the fifth, in the Matrix
Sacred wrist slit, hot whips and space ships
And shit, nigga
(I know ya style)
Bad Balance (I know ya style)
(I know ya style)
— (I know ya style)
(I know ya style)
Bad Balance (I know ya style)
— (I know ya style)
— (I know ya style)
From the streets to (I know ya style)
From cats on the prowl (I know ya style)
From bags to vials (I know ya style)
From New York to Moscow (I know ya style)
(I know ya style)
(I know ya style)
I know it (I know ya style)
I know it (I know ya style)
Straight like that, rhyme god Ročsigar
Yeah, double nickle style, nigga
said you know how we do it