Maestro Fresh‐Wes How Many Styles Lyrics

“Naaah, Dis Kid Can’t Be From Canada?!!” Track Listing
CD 1
  • 1 I’m Drinkin’ Milk Now
  • 2 Check My Vernacular
  • 3 Pray to da East
  • 4 Certs Wid Out da Retsyn
  • 5 Mic Mechanism
  • 6 Makin’ Records
  • 7 Fine Tune da Mic
  • 8 Brown Sugar
  • 9 How Many Styles
  • 10 “Dat’s My Nigga!!”
  • 11 Higher Level
  • 12 Bring It On (remix)
  • 13 Make It for the Ruff
  • 14 “Dat’s My Nigga!!” (instrumental)

  • INTRO [Maestro Fresh Wes]
    It's the power move (yeah)
    It's the power move (yeah)
    Peace to the power move (yeah)
    It's the master plan (word)
    Peace
    To the master plan (yeah)

    1994 baby, the Maestro wild like a psycho
    That's how we do

    CHORUS [Maestro Fresh Wes]
    It goes in with the fat, out with the wack
    In with the fat out with the wack
    You niggas can't rap, so I want my money back
    Can you dig it? (I can dig it), can you dig it? (I can dig it)
    In with the fat, out with the wack
    In with the fat out with the wack
    You niggas can't rap, so I want my money back
    Can you dig it? (I can dig it), can you dig it? (I can dig it)

    [Maestro Fresh Wes]
    Yo, I walk tall like Hanibal Adley
    Hit a grand slam like my man Don Mattingly
    Come prepared if you ever try to battle me (why)
    I got rhymes coming out my anal cavity
    Straight outta Scarborough
    Ready to swing blows, niggas want to quit
    Wash my nuts and my windows
    I'm on your tape decks, rhyming to my apex
    If a nigga don't like he can bite me with a latex
    Because when I'm rhyming, heads are declining
    Like Brian Mulroney, niggas are resigning
    Competition ain't in front of me
    Maestro where'd you get all thses dope rhymes from?
    I don't know, they just come to me
    You fucking with a crazy brother
    I don't kiss and tell, but I know your baby mother
    I ain't bullshitting
    Mmm, why did Gill cook a mean Curry Chicken
    Time for me to get mad check(?)
    So wack motherfuckers step to the left
    I'm fat like a Cadillac, cut like a battle axe
    I got crazy freaks, wash from BC to Halifax
    Yeah, now the Maest is known
    This beats alright, but now I thknk I want a xylophone
    With my cipher grown, many mics are blown
    You're in the Maestro zone
    Now I gotta flow, hurdle any obstacle
    Rhyme to show, and clock the dough
    So many people try to stop the bro
    But I smoke competition like an octago(?)
    It's Maestro!, Fresh W-E-S big up to fly Ju(?) and my nigga big Jess
    Yes, my peeps from 1-6-2
    I met her last summer on Jamaica Avenue
    Now every beat I made is a hit
    But tell me, how many styles can one nigga flip?

    Yeah, ha ha
    CHORUS

    [Maestro Fresh Wes]
    From the lungs of the Maestro, hail the funk hail the phelgm
    Niggas getting grim everytime I begin
    To bring the funk to radio stations to bump me
    You should have never let my ass into your country
    Word to God, I'm real hard
    I'm even deadlier than Tony Montana with a green card
    Fuck you and your demo tape
    Instead of tryin' to imitate... innovate
    I pull the mic but I don't pull cards
    Bust your ass plus Julio down by the schoolyard
    Don't try dissing me, because your style is history
    I'm packing more flavour than the kernel's(sp?) rotisserie
    I injure bone and I injure limbs
    I've come a long way like Virgina SLims
    I do a show with the Bandstand, never met the sandman
    Chicks with the big tits give me a gland stand(?)
    Older broads want to jock me, Elanor from Fox wants my rock
    Let me stop, and burn styles
    Chumps want to turn wild, you say you got dope
    But why was your pops jumping turnstiles
    You ain't got money *Laughter*
    I'm so dope, this shit's funny
    All my jams is the shits
    But tell me how many styles can one nigga flip?

    OUTRO [Maestro Fresh Wes]
    Yeah, 1994 baby
    Brother Maestro
    I want to say what's up to my people, Scarborough
    Jane the Finch, Jungle, Flemington Park, everywhere
    You know what I'm saying
    Toronto flavour, catching mad wrizzech in efizzect

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