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i'm home - styles p lyrics

[verse 1]
in your ear like a q*tip
on it like a phone
n*ggas talk that sh*t like i wasn’t coming home
it wasn’t about me
if it was i woulda aired y’all n*ggas out the same day that i got out
but just to talk sl!ck
and make n*ggas sick, suck d*ck if you a n*gga to doubt me
yeah, let me talk slow with ’em
i don’t get dough with ’em i collect four hit ’em
nah, you ain’t a hombre of mine
surprised to see me hop out a hyundai with nines
hustle so hard in the hood so much that n*ggas call me up to remind me i rhyme
sh*t is haywire and you wanna play sides
when it’s so much gunfire that n*ggas going blind
nah, i don’t feel you n*gga
and it won’t be long ‘fore i peel you n*gga

[verse 2]
i don’t wanna k!ll you
i just want you paralyzed
f*cking up your spine so you can take time to *n*lyze
wrong one to f*ck with is p
you don’t wanna duck, it’s gonna hit your head and then touch your knee
can’t y’all see that we different kind of n*ggas
y’all the rappers with cops, we the rappers with k!llers
got to be under the ground to understand it
and i put you under the dirt when i shoot underhanded
now i’m back on my grind like i’m f*cked up
truth is i’m couped out, sedan’d out and trucked up
yeah, and it’s a lot of n*ggas mad at me
but i got knifework and they don’t wanna stab at me
and i’m good with a pistol
probably got the same one that that cop with you issued
i say what i do, and i do what i say
so when you hear me pop sh*t, b*tch, it’s official
[verse 3]
new york city is grittiest
y’all n*ggas wanna be the prettiest
can’t be serious
my attitude’s the sh*ttiest
flow still hideous
tryna make you bleed like a chick on her period
had to switch my style up
feds on my back had to switch my vials up
n*ggas got my flow like i’m selling it
i don’t know these n*ggas from a can of paint, this sh*t is irrelevant
matter of fact i would call it inappropriate
you wasn’t an associate
you ain’t have a chair at the table when i was down in chinatown getting opium
you ain’t a gangster like me
a n*gga owe cash you ain’t f*cking breaking ankles like me
who am i?
ghost or the g*host, host of the g’s
n*gga in the hood squeezing toast at the d’s
new york i’m responsible for most of the p’s

- styles p lyrics

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