| Yeah, Holiday, Gary |
| I don’t want y’all to compare me to niggas no more |
| Unless they got a case pending |
| Unless they poke somethin' up |
| Unless they keepin' it real gutter, y’know |
| SP, I’m the closest thing to poison it is |
| You think you hot, I’ma boil your kid |
| You think you cool, I’ma throw you in the river |
| Wit some cement shoes you could sleep with the fishes |
| Niggas actin' funny, so, I gotta keep it movin' |
| I don’t speak to the bitches we could handle this like gangsta’s |
| Dog, I’ll kidnap your little man and send you to the banker |
| That money get dropped off, so do he |
| Right off the booth of his mama' building |
| Feel the drama building |
| Told y’all niggas don’t fuck wit P |
| I said, m fuck rap and a verse |
| I get down like the bishops it the way you clap at the hearse |
| I get it crunk wit a blunt and a package of Herc |
| I’m in the shottie of the Cadillac wit niggas that’ll take |
| Twenty a body, the shottie will handle that |
| Styles |
| Paniro the most, you hearin' the Ghost |
| Styles |
| Holiday shit, it’s robbery shit |
| Nigga talkin' funny then body the kid, let’s go |
| Styles |
| Mafia boss, rockin' the corpse |
| Styles |
| Pullin' the three, cockin' the four |
| Styles |
| We’re closin' the windows and lockin' the doors |
| You could die today |
| Or you could die tomorrow, baby boy, the option is yours, c’mon |
| I smoke weed 'cuz the future is grim |
| I’m knockin' this ash off the dutch on the roof of your Benz |
| My lil' man been runnin' since the shootin' begin |
| Y’all niggas talk about cases of Crist |
| I talk about cases where niggas get life of the shit |
| And your girl visit two years, mom come forever |
| But near one of your mans aint right wit his shit |
| But like corn I’ma flip, smokin' weed influenced by the fix |
| And old timers with the too lies by the hips |
| So come and creep wit me, and I ain’t lyin' |
| When I tell these motherfuckers that I got the streets in me |
| One felony, wit two cases beat, so be about your business |
| When you come and beef wit me I got coke for sale |
| And I got dope for sale if you wanna cop some work |
| You oughta come and speak wit me |
| Styles |
| Paniro the most, you hearin' the Ghost |
| Styles |
| Holiday shit, it’s robbery shit |
| Nigga talkin' funny then body the kid, let’s go |
| Styles |
| Mafia boss, rockin' the corpse |
| Styles |
| Pullin' the three, cockin' the four |
| Styles |
| We’re closin' the windows and lockin' the doors |
| You could die today |
| Or you could die tomorrow, baby boy, the option is yours, c’mon |
| Y’all niggas know my name, but you don’t know my style |
| What make it all ironic is the shit is the same |
| Keep a Milli in the coat, puffin' on the chronic |
| In the hood wit my niggas that’s distributin' 'caine |
| If your man get bodied, number one rule is |
| You body somethin' back then live with the pain |
| Young guns of this shit, so when I get hit |
| I’ma yell, Sheek and Kiss, let’s finish the game |
| I got discipline and dedication |
| I’m the boss of the S N F, that’s the Shootin' Niggas Federation |
| Light a blunt and get cloudy wit me |
| Go get your gun and get rowdy wit me |
| It’s a Holiday dog, mouth big, you could swallow the four |
| Don’t you ask me what I’m robbing you for, what |
| 'Cuz you was talkin' big money and I’m a little broke |
| And I’m a firm believer in equality dog, what |
| Styles |
| Paniro the most, you hearin' the Ghost |
| Styles |
| Holiday shit, it’s robbery shit |
| Nigga talkin' funny then body the kid, let’s go |
| Styles |
| Mafia boss, rockin' the corpse |
| Styles |
| Pullin' the three, cockin' the four |
| Styles |
| We’re closin' the windows and lockin' the doors |
| You could die today |
| Or you could die tomorrow, baby boy, the option is yours, c’mon |
| Styles |
| Paniro the most, you hearin' the Ghost |
| Styles |
| Holiday shit, it’s robbery shit |
| Nigga talkin' funny then body the kid, let’s go |
| Styles |
| Mafia boss, rockin' the corpse |
| Styles |
| Pullin' the three, cockin' the four |
| Styles |
| We’re closin' the windows and lockin' the doors |
| You could die today |
| Or you could die tomorrow, baby boy, the option is yours, c’mon |