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Superstars
by Styles of Beyond

Verse 1 (Tak)


Ayo, first things first, It's time to shake ground
In the eighth round, Box battle and break down
For the beat, Killa rhyme tone
Jump in the cyclone
S-T-Y-L-E-S Yes I know
The rap fiend, Vaccine, Pack rat fiend
Put ‘em up, What the fuck You plucked the bad seed
Off the wall Spitting the gorilla tag team
What's up now Duck down, Stuff that can't breathe

Verse 2 (Ryu)

Yo, you know the routine
The team in effect please
Don't sleep, You wanna feed one of my pet peeves
The more beef the better, Sound gay
But you all wanna sleep together, Okay
In the club We don't sneak berettas. Why not?
We got so much street credit, The fucking police let us
Now that's bullshit, Cause we don't pack heat
So come and get your head cracked into fat meat

Chorus
Keep it moving it's on now
Making it bump loud
Shaking it buck wild
Waving the punk style
Faking the funk now
Pow duck Watch the pump
What now
Watch your battleship get sunk down
Click Click
Pow Pow
Nine nine
Thou Thou
What
Just what I thought what's up now?
Huh Huh
Buckshot through the speaker
Dabbin' the track with both hands
I'm like huh, huh
Buckshot through the speakers
Dabbin' the track with both hands

Verse 3 (Ryu)

Hold it down never give in, Styles sever your limbs
However you want it to end, Dirty syringe
I'll murder them again
Nine seven serving them since
Of thirty your friends
Get knocked out turbulent winds
Hopped out
Whatchu' want
Beer, bourbon, or gin
I'm a fish
You can tell by the flippers and fins

Verse 4 (Tak)

Yo I got a rock style
Pivot the offspring
And joke with him with
The distorted guitar string
Who am I?
Russian roulette, Kumathai
Pushing you back
Hotter then Quebec in July
Area five one
Stereo bop gun
Live here we go
S-O-B drop some
For the kids in the hall
With the new block tape
Blast from both angles
Like Boondock Saints
So get up get up
So let the sound hit you
Snap this audio style picture
Huh

Chorus


Verse 5 (Tak)

Who the hell's this
Splitting the belly upon the shellfish
Sittin' Indian style
Playin the fair blitz
Drilling your brain like
Graphic video games
Feel the syringe
From the style
Stickin' into your vein

Verse 6 (Ryu)

Yo
What kind of shit is he on
Really
His style's really
Beyond
Come on punk
Fuck off
You really got to be gone
Ripped out of your brain
Piss covered in shit
To diss this
S-O-B gang
Son of bitch
I'ma start killing for kicks
There ain't an Air Force One in the globe I can't fig
Get it
I'm sick wit it
When I spit the venom and it
Drips a minute
Gets the women in a
Quick dilemma
We can settle it now
And I don't know who did it
But they said it was Styles

Chorus

Contributed by Luke A. Suggest a correction in the comments below.
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