"Bust the Style" as written by and Michael A/drayton Moore....
[Chorus 4X]
Bust the style! Bust the style!

[Timbo King]
We, us, us, we
T-I-M-be, O, yeah, where, tear
Tear ya hats on, and I don't care
Back right, blow, right
Gin and tay, gin and tay
May, June, July, August
Watch me hard this, I mean dog this
Track, act like you know the flavor
We got the flavor, go tell ya neighbor
Bang, boom, boom, bang
Check out the man wit the funky slang
Spark cuttin up the records like a dagger
Trips in a stagger, no I'm not a bragger
Boaster, keep a 4/5 in my hoaster
Host this court case, no I'm not a fake
Or a phony, macaroni, Tone Toni Tony
Cheers, tears, four years only
Takes two to mingle, here's a dope single
We got sperm that jingle jingle jingle
Lights, camera, see us on TV
Penny, Horny, Penny, Horny, Penny
Legal, rocks, go ask your pops
Skip to my lue, drink my rum on rocks
'cause nobody knows the troubles I've been through
Who, who, who, yes it's the man in the middle wit oxy tan
And a little bit of clearer, sail
Jack and Jill went up the hill to buy a pack of franks
Crank up the piece we gotta win this race
These rhyme funkies gotta go to Pennsylvania
Moms always told me not to talk to any strangers
Lone ranger wit saddle, not, come on like Hector Camacho
Peter, Peter Pumpkin eater, playin wit the pro
The rhyme sounds silly, but the record sound dope

[Chorus 4X]
[Timbo King]
Mary had a little lamb, Sam cook out green
Jack meet Numble Jack, look slick in his brown jeans
Tito, Jackie, Jermaine to the freebie
Fuck rough riders and his biddy biddy biddy friend
Come again, come again, now select a
Sang a song wit the record
Peanut butter jelly, smelly Jim Kelly
Met Kermit the frog, he was down at the deli
Polly want to cracker, I meant to say nigga
And then like kids are, put them in a figure
Four, pour me some water 'cause I'm thirsty
Marvin Gaye, oh mercy mercy me
He, she, her, him, no it's Timb
Step to the ring before I clear my phligm
Heh-heh-hmm, heh-hmm, yes, yes it's the one
Woody Woodpecker wear moments like a hoodie
I'm a goody goody two shoes, who's shoes, my shoes
Sware to God, on a stack of Bibles
Who stack a car, bass line sounds rubber
I can talk deep like the man Ron Harper
Knick knacks, raw tracks back to slam, whoa
Black Betty, lamb the lamb
So go wipe ya tails, 'cause you smell like doodie
Moo-moo-mookie, moo-moo-mookie
Uh, holy whoaly, Dolly Parton, big titties
We make the earrings rock big vidy vidy
Like I said it, Timbuktu I'm tossin ya
Oh, I forgot to add the fabric sofiner
Peter, Peter Pumpkin eater, playin wit the pro
The rhyme sounds silly, but the record sounds dope

[Chorus 4X]
Come on, come on, why'all (4X)
[Timbo King]
Think, sight, spray it wit the gamma ray
They went that way, they went that way
Shea Stadium, what should I say to them
Flex, work, Mr. Flex off go play wit them
Top of collar ranger, fixty g's
If this means flip the scene, I'mma flip the scene
Gene Griffin, Griffin wit Richard Gere
Ch-ch-chia, mira mira come here
There for, afterwards like a contract
You can't see this style so get contacts
Barcelon', to wash it on
Bust the style that I drop, 'cause it's my supplies
Peter Pumpkin eater, playin wit the pro
The rhyme sounds silly, but the record sounds dope

[Chorus 4X]


Lyrics submitted by SongMeanings

"Bust the Style" as written by Timothy Jerome Drayton Michael A Moore

Lyrics © EMI Music Publishing

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