Jim Jones Sends Styles P A Ultimatum After He Says They’re Not The Same Rappers

summwunn

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Barney Rubble

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I'm never calling out a dude capable of this :hubie:

Holiday's gettin' on it (What up nikka)
fukk Beanie Sigel (You heard me)
nikka you could suck my dikk with the shyt on it (P said it)
Mack put a lid on it
fukk with me, I'll kill ya whole fukkin' family
You can put your kid on it (That's right nikka)
Free you a bytch too (You a bytch, nikka)
Wanna run with your man? Talk greasy, nikka, you gettin' hit too (fakkit!)
We can make the bullshyt stop (We don't gotta make no more songs)
fukk a song, meet in the street and we can let a full clip pop (a$$holes)
Tell your band to ride with you
It's Holiday Styles (dikkheads), you know how I do, your man could die wit'chu (He could die too)
Make New York jumpin' like when Jeter get off (Ha haaaa)
How the fukk y'all the Roc when your leader is soft? (You answer me that)
How the fukk you The Truth? (Answer me that too)
dikkhead, when it's me you wanna be like (Tell the truth) when you get in the booth (Look in the mirror)
I don't feel ya'll nikkas (I sure don't)
Hit me on the cell phone, meet me in the street and I kill y'all nikkas (I'll murder you!)
Y'all can't be serious (Ha haaa)
Y'all just rappin' it (Rappers)
I lay nikkas down point blank period ([?])
Holiday's callin' ya bytch (bytch)
You gon' make me catch my fourth case hoping that none of (Nobody snitch, it's all good) y'all snitch to me
All y'all trash (bytch) and all y'all ass (Uh huh) and it
Must be the syrup that got all y'all gassed (fukkin' drug heads)
Don't you ever talk of killin' me, word to Allah (Don't ever speak of killin' me)
I squeeze the burner in your face, 'till it turn into tar, what!
You bytch nikka

:damn:
 
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