Testi musica canzoni

[Guru]First and foremost, some rappers are sweet like fructoseWhen I cock back these lyrics, y'all punks best be ghostI be the seven twenty-one, eighteen twenty-oneThe illest one, I'm almost doper than anyoneStraight out the late nights of Bed-StuySteppin up, y'all put your weapons up, I make heads flyYou're artificial like saccarhinYou're crazy fake, it's more than skills you be lackin inConcepts you bite, cause your identity ain't tightTryin to be somethin you're not, like pullin a knife at a gunfightI'm troopin on night air like flight number 106and gettin all up in your fuckin mixYou get me upset, and I got you uptightcause my committee's in your city tonight, AIGHT?We got seventeen million of us plus, two million IndiansThat makes 19 mil, lightin shit up like Wild BillI be the, supreme father plus the ill kid with dramaMy karma, creates the teflon to pierce your body armorAnd make sure you check the shit before you walk to me, or talk to meSteppin to me improperly, you just may catch the weaponryMy specialty is tearin tracks out the frameYou know my fuckin name, I rule all gameI'm universal on all planes, what's your claim?[Guru]Yo, I be your highness, in slickness, you chumps bear witnessTremendous tropper, verbal nigga witht he fitnessDrop you for your spot with the blazer then I blast yaSlice precise like ?fenny hanas? when I come to bring the dramasStyles so swift, that you can't peep the Godas your lyrics get buried, six feet deep in my backyardI laugh hard, while your mental I run through mazesDark stages of terror to shatter your dressing room mirrorYour whole error gets crushed, your whole show gets bumrushedToo many dumb punks, want to enter this rap sceneKickin Willie Bobo, but need to be slapped cleaninto oblivion, the true champion always risesI bring surprises to the chief plus their advisersSize me up, and you will find nothing's largerCatch more wreck on your dome, than a deranged fuckin barberSo what you made some dough, you best keep on scramblinAll your vanity, is instantly crushed, when I start handlinDemandin that you pay, for your weak rhyme displayCoast to coast, I break the fakes everyday[Krumb Snatcha]I see myself as the black Rap MessiahColossal spreadin my gospel through electrical wiresSpit fire through speech, so I can reach each and everyTom Dick and Jerry slippin like petroleum jellyToo busy in the limelight, can't rhyme tightI got divine right to bring y'all to lightSomethin ain't right, to be an MC, you gotta thugOr to thug you gotta be an MC, this shit is buggedShow love but few; deal with crew and crew onlyAnd think universal like SonyPhony pounds and fake hugs is usually avoidedGive a fuck like Pizza Hut I got to stay Noyd-edCause that same nigga you trust, could be that same catbehind that gat that bust, quiet ya, with the silencerKeep it hush, ashes to dust, then dust to ashesNowadays it's who pull out the fastest, imagine thisrap shit without this gat shit, or the phony catin black talkin bout how much his Mac spitBut this year, GangStarr got changes bein madeNo wack shit bein played no fake macks gettin paidNo Versace MC's, with a mouth full of Mo'Soundin like a hoe spittin that old-fashioned show flowI bombshell that pastel Chanel rap through a MaxwellEver since young Krumb, was taught to rap wellGoin deep, process of thought, when my eyes closesAwaken with interpretive robe and sandals like MosesTravellin high sands and Eastern lands for the answersIgnorance is spreadin through the streets like it was cancerToo many drinkin not thinkin, when behind that triggerA 38 escalate the murder rate, for us niggazit's like, microphone roulette cause nowadays MC's is gettin wetover someone else's fake gangsta repmore