Styles P
Mashout
[Verse 1: Canibus]
Hardcore, wow M.O.P. style
When you going for the crown
N***a calm down
He haunts hip hop
Hip hop haunts him back
When he runs out of rounds
He roundhouses his scraps
Mr. Capable tie you to the table
Interrogate you with jumper cables
Don't know what to ask you
Don't know what to say to you
Pray for you, the isolator is inescapable
Anonymously pay for you
Custom made for you
Mad man label you
When your behaviors unfavorable
'Til it breaks you
Musical misnomer, microphone ogre
Symbiote host and clone donor
For the next four months, I smoke blunt
White paper old school, son
Just roll up some so I can zone to the drum
Canibus ain't no man no list, Shotokan flips
Dogan kicks, one arm gunslingers don't miss
Won't fuck with you, don't diss
Still won't fuck with you pimp
But beyond that, I'm lovable kid
My Sagittarius soul is on humanitarian parole
If you object then throw the first stone
How conscious could you be
If you can do this to me
I give you music, you don't listen to it even for free
Spit to the beat, 'til the equipment overheats
Shut it down, go to sleep
I might have to tow it up the street
Steady as she goes, beside her autopilot driver
He's above the throb, don't ride her
Special counsel for hire, son of Gaya
No messiah ever have no verses required or desired
Or inspired, never been fired, you a liar
I drop you down into five tires on fire
Hardcore, wow M.O.P. loud
Firing squad style, you seen it all now
Hardcore, wow M.O.P. loud
Firing squad style, you seen it all now