Holiday (feat. Styles)

Yeah

L-O-X, ****

It don't stop

It keep going and going, and going, and going

Motherfucker

You heard it from the P, you oughta know it's the truth

I get you kidnapped and raped, and thrown off a roof

You could nod your head to this like it's only a rap

'Cause when these bullets hit your ass, I'm like, "It's only a GAT"

I need a funeral to feel good, I'm hoping it's yours

Think he religious? Heard he got shot in the cross

Holiday Styles, bitch, I broke most of the laws

Fuck with the Porsche or flip to the boots, stick to the truth

Do anything it takes just to get me this loot

And missing a tooth but both of 'em chipped

Toaster is gripped

You heard about the trouble, I start most of the shit

When I squeeze, ain't no controlling the wrist

And **** leave the room when they hear the P flowing to Swiss

I'm an ignorant and negative ****

I sell crack, bust guns, pop shit, and say, "I'm better than ****"

You think not, I'll look at your man and level a ****

If you think a rapper's better, why don't you give me his name?

So I can run up on him, tear him up and give you his frame

When it comes to the streets, I'm the **** to call

5'8" and 3/4's but I'm bigger than y'all

If I left the gun home, I'ma give you the sword

I'm the devil in the flesh I can't give you the Lord

It don't make no sense for you to pray for your life

I got my **** in the crib, you oughta pray for your wife (Uh-huh)

Holiday (I gotta make it to heaven for going through hell)

Holiday (And I don't care if I sell, y'all know what I sell)

Holiday (I use my left hand when I'm loading the shells)

Holiday ('Cause I know it ain't right, that's why I'm blowing a L)

Yo, I do it all for my ****, even ride with a bomb

Get shot, die in his arms and give him my last

It's a million dollar bail, I'ma get 'em with cash

I sell crack like it's '88, I live in the past

You know the P carry the gun

Live in the mast

Tell ****, "Show me the money and give me the stash"

I like Malibu and pineapple, fifties of hash

Hundreds of dro

Wear my clothes a week in a row, sleep on the floor

Catch me right next to the dog, I'm holiday Styles

And that's what the weapons are for

And I probably won't blow for the fact that I'm hard

But I'm good with ten million in the back of the car

Either that or get life and lift the rack in the yard

Getting jewels from the old timers stashing the cards

But jail ain't part of the plans

I keep weight on the scale 'cause I feel I get further with grams

In my last few bars, I run through **** like my last few cars

And crash 'em up

The boy mighta went platinum but don't gas him up

I get his length and his width, and get his casket cut

I don't deal with the snakes and fakes

But I deal with the comas and wakes

I don't make mistakes

Double R now, bitch, you oughta know I'm the ghost

Blow up your face, blow up the coke and blow up the smoke (Uh-huh)

Holiday (I gotta make it to heaven for going through hell)

Holiday (And I don't care if I sell, y'all know what I sell)

Holiday (I use my left hand when I'm loading the shells)

Holiday ('Cause I know it ain't right, that's why I'm blowing a L) Uh-huh

Holiday (I gotta make it to heaven for going through hell)

Holiday (And I don't care if I sell, y'all know what I sell)

Holiday (I use my left hand when I'm loading the shells)

Holiday ('Cause I know it ain't right, that's why I'm blowing a L)