-Sylk E Fyne-Intro
East coast hustlas/To my midwest thugstas, to my west, west coast riders/To my up north playa partners/To my down dirty south little hustlas/To my world-wide showtys, it's to my international playas, international playas
-Snoop Dogg-
Mmm, I'm up early in the morning, choppin' game with Sylk-E Fyne and Bizzy Bone, i'm on the phone, tryin' to get about a zone/My eyes red, head back, kakhis sag, blue flag, in a ninety-nine Jag with a forty four mag up in my bag/I'm driftin', dippin', slippin', slidin' high, high way fly/Hoes on the side of me, they act like they wanna ride with me/Come on, get in, make it fun/Me and y'all, two on one/Dippin' down the bullavard, yeah, I know you like us hard/Call me mister gangsta, gangsta, gangsta, or mister boogie-woogie/Bitches love to give it to me (Give it to me), so baby, give it to me, 'cause I put it down G-style, L.B.C. style/Meanwhile, I'm shakin' fleas, makin' Gs, growin' trees, maxin' at the Pound with my homies (Homies)/I'm sure y'all got to dig this style one y'all know me, homie/Show me love, westside love/More heat for the street, I thought you knew we came to fire it up
-Sylk E Fyne-Chorus-
Your style/I like your style's tendernous/I like your style's silkiness/I like your style's, what a mix
-Sylk E Fyne-
Hooked up with my niggas, now we's about to dip/They say, life's a bitch, don't even trip/I stay rawed up, ready for whatever/Gotta beat a broad up for interferring with my cheddar/Wherever, whenever, I'ma go get her, and see, we gon' clear to to poppin' them guns, i'ma get right with ya/They type of chick a nigga love to have by ya side, 'cause when the shit get thick, it's like a do or die/So fly, so stylin', and real peelish, so don't try to ride with the realest/Big Dog, Sylk-E Fyne and Gambino/Games like the casino, I don't love 'em, plus they don't love them hoes/So, put a million dollar check to that/Pop your collar and tilt your hat/Where the real bitches at?/Boss sir, honey child/I got to give it to my niggas and bitches that got style
-Chorus-
-Bizzy Bone-
Won't let no sucka vibe off me/ I don't need no clique to suck my bone (oh) and bust my (shh...) it's just so n-n-n-nasty/ Through the Ouija/ Little Eazy died of A-I-D's, you better believe it/ Believe me, I can see it/ Still sinnin' and endin' in adreniline/ Ain't you weeded? But of course baby/ Wantin' my Mercedes/ Runaway slaves save me, what about your babies? Krayzie got lost like Big Wish for the big fish bitch/ I done had my wig split for the bitch shit/ A new jack, parlay (Come and get it, get it) Here cops come/ Ooh, with a whop from Layzie/ Got 'Glock shot, shot, shot just like I got him/ What? I heard Flesh was nuts/ Livin' on the bottom but I don't give a fuck/ Local niggas can sue me, my people won't keep they mouth shut/ Snoopy come hit the blunt and feel my Movie/ What? What? Sylk E watch out for Diamond/ Little Mike Mike's still shinnin'/ There's the clutch, perfect timin'/ In the search for guidance/ Silently riot/ And the quiet ho was still smilin'
-Chorus-
-Sylk-E Fyne-Outro-
Ride fo my nigga/Even die fo my nigga/Deal wit my nigga/Keep it real wit my nigga/Feel my nigga/I'm stuck wit my nigga/I'll buck fo my nigga/So dont fuck wit my nigga/Ride fo my nigga...
Ya Style Lyrics performed by Bizzy Bone are property and copyright of the authors, artists and labels. You should note that Ya Style Lyrics performed by Bizzy Bone is only provided for educational purposes only and if you like the song you should buy the CD