Shout out my name, you bitch



[Verse 1]

Oh, yeah, who wanna rip with Styles?

The whole place on the lookout for Mr. Brown

We've got, plenty of clues and forensic files

Plus, envious crews, so we trip for miles

It's (Mister Brown!)

Yeah, you know the drill

Never holdin' 'em still

Roll 'em over the hill

Just glide, close your mouth and open the blinds

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

Say (What?) to hear me callin

Shoutin out my name and playin' this in the Walkman



[Chorus]

Aiyo, crash the gates

Aiyo, pack the place up

Break stuff, takin' all the paper

I'mma stay laced up

Keep a shank tucked, take a pay cut

Even let you keep the dang paste up (really?)

Say somethin, punk, what, put away the blank gun

Fakes wanna talk about bank but they make none

Live from the sweatbox, sucking on the (???)

Pop some, lookin' for the foxhunt, peace



[Verse 2]

Yo, the joke's over, slap the bloke sober

Catch a .40 caliber case of glaucoma

Riders like Johnny Depp rollin' with Winona

Big trunk fulla shit, blow the globe up

So what? nobody knows us, got no love

Pop 6, Ryu and Tak, cops know what it does

Hot shit by the bungalow, drop the bloody glove

Won't get caught killin' today, baby, cause I'm a thug



Bottles of beer from the land of five horses

Man who wasn't there like Billy Bob Thornton

Crush-crew landin in, steppin' into the scene

Fertilize new lawns, a Requiem for a Dream

It's (Mister Brown!), legendary assignment

Searchlights hover, but can't seem to find him

Track down whatever you can in the mist

In this case, it's strictly the hand of a fist

So (What?), keep your eyes peeled