Styles P
Ghost Blunts
[Intro]
East Coast n***a, West Coast lungs
Ghost, feel me, n***a?

[Verse 1]
Smokers say I was smokin' kush
Leavin' out the spot if it wasn't a good look
We ain't doin' business, he wasn't a good crook
Don't want to muffle a shot, you was in the good book
Swear to God they say a prayer for you
Shouldn't fuck around, my peoples under the stairs for you
Walk like us, then maybe I got some ears for you
Two guns up, you know that I got a pair for you
It's like I'm on the East Coast Dogg Pound
But I ain't a Crip, n***a, I'm just a freak
Violent, don't mind usin' a whole clip
Probably in the dope spot playin' some old Fif'
(-), take the (-) in my hand for more grip
Meet the new Styles of the old (-)
Let you score the point, then slam you by the goalpost
Probably playin' pool, gettin' jewels from the old folks
With my young boys, wildin' out, get your nose broke
Get shanked up a gun butt
Dope as a dime, so I'm tellin' my son, 'Cut it'
Call him son cause she shyin' when he fire the nine
If you ain't meet the plug, then you bow from the line, right?
Maybe I'm wrong, but I'm strong
But I blow your brains out with the .44 long
Or the .38 snub, n***a, it's no love
If it was, then I guess it came across all wrong
D-Block n***a until I die
Walk up and shoot him if n***as don't want to ride
Stand there and clap if n***as don't want to slide
We could just troop it if n***as don't want to glide
Fire in my heart and my pain and my eyes
Middle finger up, n***a, fuck the other side
I could make it where your little brother die
I could make it where your old mother die
Bruce P., enter the dragon, n***a, just come inside
[Outro]
Come on, yeah, n***a