INTRO [Maestro Fresh Wes]
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It's the power move (yeah)
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It's the power move (yeah)
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Peace to the power move (yeah)
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It's the master plan (word)
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Peace
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To the master plan (yeah)
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1994 baby, the Maestro wild like a psycho
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That's how we do
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CHORUS [Maestro Fresh Wes]
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It goes in with the fat, out with the wack
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In with the fat out with the wack
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You niggas can't rap, so I want my money back
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Can you dig it? (I can dig it), can you dig it? (I can dig it)
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In with the fat, out with the wack
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In with the fat out with the wack
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You niggas can't rap, so I want my money back
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Can you dig it? (I can dig it), can you dig it? (I can dig it)
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[Maestro Fresh Wes]
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Yo, I walk tall like Hanibal Adley
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Hit a grand slam like my man Don Mattingly
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Come prepared if you ever try to battle me (why)
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I got rhymes coming out my anal cavity
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Straight outta Scarborough
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Ready to swing blows, niggas want to quit
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Wash my nuts and my windows
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I'm on your tape decks, rhyming to my apex
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If a nigga don't like he can bite me with a latex
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Because when I'm rhyming, heads are declining
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Like Brian Mulroney, niggas are resigning
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Competition ain't in front of me
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Maestro where'd you get all thses dope rhymes from?
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I don't know, they just come to me
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You fucking with a crazy brother
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I don't kiss and tell, but I know your baby mother
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I ain't bullshitting
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Mmm, why did Gill cook a mean Curry Chicken
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Time for me to get mad check(?)
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So wack motherfuckers step to the left
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I'm fat like a Cadillac, cut like a battle axe
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I got crazy freaks, wash from BC to Halifax
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Yeah, now the Maest is known
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This beats alright, but now I thknk I want a xylophone
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With my cipher grown, many mics are blown
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You're in the Maestro zone
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Now I gotta flow, hurdle any obstacle
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Rhyme to show, and clock the dough
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So many people try to stop the bro
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But I smoke competition like an octago(?)
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It's Maestro!, Fresh W-E-S big up to fly Ju(?) and my nigga big Jess
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Yes, my peeps from 1-6-2
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I met her last summer on Jamaica Avenue
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Now every beat I made is a hit
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But tell me, how many styles can one nigga flip?
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Yeah, ha ha
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CHORUS
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[Maestro Fresh Wes]
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From the lungs of the Maestro, hail the funk hail the phelgm
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Niggas getting grim everytime I begin
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To bring the funk to radio stations to bump me
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You should have never let my ass into your country
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Word to God, I'm real hard
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I'm even deadlier than Tony Montana with a green card
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Fuck you and your demo tape
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Instead of tryin' to imitate... innovate
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I pull the mic but I don't pull cards
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Bust your ass plus Julio down by the schoolyard
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Don't try dissing me, because your style is history
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I'm packing more flavour than the kernel's(sp?) rotisserie
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I injure bone and I injure limbs
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I've come a long way like Virgina SLims
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I do a show with the Bandstand, never met the sandman
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Chicks with the big tits give me a gland stand(?)
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Older broads want to jock me, Elanor from Fox wants my rock
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Let me stop, and burn styles
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Chumps want to turn wild, you say you got dope
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But why was your pops jumping turnstiles
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You ain't got money *Laughter*
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I'm so dope, this shit's funny
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All my jams is the shits
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But tell me how many styles can one nigga flip?
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OUTRO [Maestro Fresh Wes]
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Yeah, 1994 baby
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Brother Maestro
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I want to say what's up to my people, Scarborough
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Jane the Finch, Jungle, Flemington Park, everywhere
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You know what I'm saying
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Toronto flavour, catching mad wrizzech in efizzect
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-----------------
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How Many Styles
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| Maestro Fresh Wes |
