I see
now you got me
pissed off,
blast off, lift off
Time for me to twist off a vocal fist -off
into your dome piece, home piece
I heard your chick wants to bone
me, I get wild like
Rugby, respected like
Bugsy
Don't even ask me, cause I'm living lovely,
born to succeed, foes bleed, true indeed
The oral combat will rub that
you're one of my seeds
When I first busted on the scene
Nigga, you knew I had more
than a gangster lean
I mean, my lean is gangster
though, so check it
I stick an
MC for a spot and sign the blood
on his wack record
Boo ya, cut to your face as I ruin ya
Clown ya, dumbfound ya
While I'm screwing
the fuck out your girl
If she steps into my world,
I'm not the tallest
But that ass I'll polish
And if the hooker runs her mouth,
she gets cut off
But then you'll sweat her
Cause like my leather,
you're butter soft
Your style stinks, kid, you're garbage
An d if you keep talkin' shit,
I'ma make you pay homage
Cause the
G to the
U to the
RU
Came too far to let you slide through
Rhymes will scar you,
and who the fuck are you?
Anyway, I catch more rec in a minute than
if you rhyme for ten days
Throw the cash in the pot
You better dash, nigga,
cause I'm blowin' up the spot
Flow escaping the explosion, those who are dozing, I close in,
set the thermostat at sub -zero, they're frozen
Extreme temperatures from my mic, stuns amateurs,
unable to conquer the gang, I am out of church
Peace to
J .Rudah,
Big
Shug, and the group home, keeping it real,
no playing niggas are grown
I'm way past the kid shit, brothers already did shit,
you want some props, yo dawg, here's a biscuit
I'm a smooth nigga and my groove's bigger, move nigga,
and we don't care who's with ya, got the picture?
And you don't wanna
hear the burners go pop
Gangstar motherfucker, what,
blowin' up the spot
I'm bout to blow the fuck up
I'm bout to blow the fuck up
I'm bout to blow the fuck up
I'm bout to blow the fuck up
I go from one format,
then switch to the next
Reflex sets the pitch,
vocals riff through projects
Crazy shouts I heard all around
Cause the gangsta sound carries
my weight per pound
I got some brand new tims, so
MCs sing new hymns
You better repent, come corrective,
represent, or get stomped
Smack the slot cap, heel back,
I got you open
And now you cling to my sack
Get off, hands off, stay off, your way off
You rookie motherfuckers,
it's the finals, not the playoffs
I break you up into particles,
into small pieces
Because your brain is minuscule,
you little fool
Come learn the tools of the trade
I made the rules,
so go to school and get played
Just when you're thinking
that your jam is hot
Up steps the niggas who be
blowing up the spot