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morning mourning - styles p lyrics

[interlude]
bill “the butcher” cutting: is this it, priest? the pope’s new army?
a few crusty b-tches and a handful of rag-tags?
priest vallon: now, now, bill, you swore this was a battle between warriors, not a bunch of miss nancies
so warriors is what i brought

[verse 1: styles p]
a cold heart and a hot slug is not love
them boys’ll pop up, leave you chopped up
there’s a lot of p-ssy n-ggas, but it’s not us
got cuffed, why you think i’m frontin’ in a drop truck?
grindin’, i work real hard, wasn’t pot luck
‘lotta work in the pot, couple n-ggas was shot up
the glorifyin’ times or the horrifyin’ crimes
but the more i see the soft sh-t, the more that i’m inclined
to let the real n-ggas know it’s all about the shine
let ’em get it in the sun, get your gun when the moon fall
soon i’ll tell the goons meet the ghost by the pool hall
’cause when the rules get lost, it’s a fool’s fault
take a smart man to get in on the smooth course
singin’ you will never find by lou ross
thinkin’ can i live? now the crib got two floors
can’t snooze off, nor take my shoes off
‘lotta n-ggas is rude, that sh-t’ll throw your mood off
‘lotta n-ggas is cruel, tryna’ cut your fuel off
watch your ride die, no jump for you
they ain’t pump you up but i bet you they got a pump for you
right here he said he would dump for you
then he went and left on your death, they on the hunt for you
maybe you just blind or maybe you just fine with gettin’ lined
’cause you p-ssy by design, what!

[chorus: oswin benjamin]
mama told me to pray in the mornin’ (to pray)
i’m stuck here in the place tonight (we been stuck up in this place tonight)
god forbid we don’t make it to the mornin’
in the rain that i died could be found in my mom’s eyes
see the pain that she feel while she moanin’ (she moanin’-she moanin’)
don’t wait to pray ’til the mornin’-the mornin’
’cause you might not make it home-make it home

[verse 2: styles p]
yeah, you die if you violate, eyes dilate
blowin’ weed tryna vibrate
thirty-eight in my size nines, win the tri-state
swim with the sharks, you a k!lla or you live bait?
considered a t-tan although i’m only five-eight
born in the jungle, made it out, i survived hate
run with gorillas, bang my chest like i’m a primate
consider me a land pirate that knows the pie rate
get lined without a ruler, a nine at your medulla for a lil’ bit of moolah
found his body chopped up in mexico in the cooler
right next to a shooter and his best friend
it ain’t chess but they put him in, check then
if you know the math on the wrath, he is less than
from the south side, but i hustle on the west end
pain and that stress gon’ k!ll you if it’s kept in
ghost, n-gga

- styles p lyrics

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