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​G-Joint

This song is by Styles P and appears on the album Time Is Money (2006).

Styles P Talking:
"Yo I rock the fuck out.
I don't know bout everyone else"

Verse 1 - Styles P

Whatever we don't make, we gona take mof**ker.
Get this straight and fix your face.
I ain't gotta sell millions. I'm in the buildins
With poppy comin' through with them bricks by eight.
Listen cocksucker and clown
I'll be leaving you cut.
You're like a dutch hound, bustin' ya down.
Niggaz driving in a circle wit your hoe in the back.
Be the only damn way I'll be fuckin' around.
And I'm aiming for yo waist, hopin you duck
So I can bust you in the head when I'm buckin tha pound.
And I told you that I'm holiday Styles
Lets celebrate.
Heard you gettin' money, Ill rob you right now.
And you gon get popped in the head.
True Story.
Crips do they thing in blue, bloods pop off in red.
Me, I'm on the move only stopping for bread.
Double R and D-Block nigga, copper and lead.
Whaddup!

Styles P Talking:
"Stay in the zone"

Verse 2 - Styles P

I don't know why the fuck you amped yo.
Got hoodrat bitches carryin birds on the public transpo.
Niggaz in the hood that go out like Rambo.
They hot since 138th had that ???
Young Buck, Dumb Fuck


Two Gunz up, ride or die till the suns up.
Gangsta and a Gentleman dogg,
I got class, Ima send a bunch a roses to your men in tha morgue.
I'll be down south bendin a whore
(Ten in the morn) Pretendin I'm on.
(Dirty) Thirty on eighty-five like J-Bo and Sean Paul.
Beef wit New York rappers, I'm killin' 'em all.
On my Slick Rick shit, y'all could lick the balls.
I been cool 'cause (these) niggaz is (ass.) asthma
(But) Fuck that, might as well call me pool 'cause I'm (givin') gettin' splash.ed
And that Lamborghini liftin tha stash
Even gettin' the mass while some haze (to mix) be mixed wit the hash.
Whaddup!

J-Hood Talking:
"Pass that blunt nigga"

Verse 3 - J-Hood

I'm in the hood where the eggs get knocked off.
Gangmembers find they family members with both of they legs chopped off.
Niggaz ain't scrappin, they bangin' ya
The judge don't need a tree branch when they hangin' ya
All y'all fags'll get ate like clams.
This is a blood sport bitch, You could call me J Van Dam.
All these so called "Guerrillas" be tellin'
How a rat goin' give you thoughts of a predicate felon. Motherfucker
Homie, what you want, the blade or the slug
I'm the one that send the order when they sprayed up the club.
Bitch nigga, bow your head in the presence of G's
Load the lead up and squeeze.
I'm a great dane, niggaz is fleas.
Fuckin' rats can't wait to call cops,
Till I make 'em sick and put pellets in they mouth like cough drops.
J-Hood bitch, my name rang in the ghetto.
'Cause I'm O.G. and I play the streetz like a chello.