Wu Block, Method Man - Stella lyrics

Stay dip, cute bitch out in Delaware
Moving our bricks so hard
Stupid big stones from Miss Stella ear
She just turn 35
We in the spot on Martin Luther King Drive
Whole team getting high, on phones
We learned different codes of pig Latin
So the jakes don’t follow our
Trail with sick patterns
And the crib is jig
Jennifer convertible love seat
That’s worth forty G’s from Madrid
In Spain, sipping cherry Cosmo’s and things
Stella, finish the glass
Showing niggas her rings
I said bitch, I ain’t impressed with that
Why the fuck is every briefcase short
By at least ten stacks
We had a mil' in each bag
There’s eighty grand missing
You pop up with a new Jag', with a bad system


I done sent your ass to Hawaii and Waikiki
When your man needed bail, you’ll come see me
Rob me? That’s how we do?
You pretty slick muthafucka
You must think I’m a sucker
Matter fact, you gon' suck this dick
How bout that for a change
Let me see what’s really on your brain
She said ‘Starkey, you violating me, stop it'
I saved up for this shit
You playing me like a hostage
Out of all people, I wheeled you around
When you got shot
Be the closest one too you, and may I rot
In hell, yo Starks, chill
I don’t think she that stupid
Since '90, '95, she came through, kid
Two million in six weeks, cover six space
Just to think of those towns alone
We brought a big steak

But it still don’t change the job
Aiyo, Tone, who this silly bitch trynna rob
Niggas been getting money
Since pushing a Saeb
In the spot writing rhymes
Never heard of a blog
Is it that coincidental? That the same rental
Be out in Virginia and DC
Before she come see me
I’m ready, put this hammer in her face in 3D
I know that’s your home girl, but fuck it
On GP and I don’t like her brother, either
He probably put her up to it
Give me the word and I go empty his fluid
Shady? I been bagging up since 1980
Me and Ghost been tight
Since Fred met Grady, lady
So what you telling me? My account is off?
Oh you must really motherfucking think
We that damn soft

Hold on, yo, Sheek
What you gon' do? Cut her whole hand off?
Put a pillow over her face
And let the four bang off?
Or we can get the gat taping
So the ho can’t talk
Before we get the whole story
Cut this whole thing short
I don’t think that’s wise at all
Whatever honey do with her money, dog
That’s not my problem, why is it yours?
Wu-Block, you riding for mine
I’m riding for yours that’s the motto if you
Talking bout homicide, my lord
It’s survival, homey, you ain’t never lied
My lord but the Pretty Toney baby
Ain’t never lied before
That’s a hundred lucci, word to Bully
I smoke too many loosies
I know her history, if something fishy
Must be the coochie
It ain’t no mystery, your finger itchy
If she a groupie
Once you go up, once you go down
Let’s keep it Gucci you take her head
I take all the jewelry from all these moolies
Get all your goonies
And we can meet up for Call of Duty
Ain’t nothing funny like Paul Mooney
This fatal beauty
Got some explaining to do, hold up
I thought you knew me better than that
We know the cheddar was tapped
You getting bread in the trap
Why get in bed with them rats
My son is missing some racks
And Louch is fitting to snap
She need to come up with answers
Instead of fixing her mack
Makeup, just give the facts, straight up
And just the facts
If you did it, we gon' bury you with it
And that’s that