Lyrics Mr. Brown - Styles of Beyond

Mr. Brown

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