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Gang Starr

Gang Starr was an influential East Coast hip hop duo that consisted of the late MC Guru and the DJ/producer DJ Premier. more »

Year:

1998

4:21

65 Views

Playlists:

#1

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featuring Krumb Snatcha 
[Guru] 
First and foremost some rappers are sweet like fructose 
When I cock back these lyrics y'all punks best be ghost 
I be the seven twenty one eighteen twenty one 
The illest one I'm almost doper than anyone 
Straight out the late nights of Bed Stuy 
Steppin up y'all put your weapons up I make heads fly 
You're artificial like saccarhin 
You're crazy fake it's more than skills you be lackin in 
Concepts you bite, cause your identity ain't tight 
Tryin to be somethin you're not, like pullin a knife at a gunfight 
I'm troopin on night air like flight number 106 
and gettin all up in your fuckin mix 
You get me upset, and I got you uptight 
cause my committee's in your city tonight, AIGHT? 
We got seventeen million of us plus, two million Indians 
That makes 19 mil, lightin shit up like Wild Bill 
I be the, supreme father plus the ill kid with drama 
My karma, creates the teflon to pierce your body armor 
And make sure you check the shit before you walk to me, or talk to me 
Steppin to me improperly, you just may catch the weaponry 
My specialty is tearin tracks out the frame 
You know my fuckin name, I rule all game 
I'm universal on all planes, what's your claim? 

[Guru] 
Yo, I be your highness, in slickness, you chumps bear witness 
Tremendous tropper, verbal nigga with he fitness 
Drop you for your spot with the blazer then I blast ya 
Slice precise like ?fenny hanas? when I come to bring the dramas 
Styles so swift, that you can't peep the God 
as your lyrics get buried, six feet deep in my backyard 
I laugh hard, while your mental I run through mazes 
Dark stages of terror to shatter your dressing room mirror 
Your whole error gets crushed, your whole show gets bumrushed 
Too many dumb punks, want to enter this rap scene 
Kickin Willie Bobo, but need to be slapped clean 
into oblivion, the true champion always rises 
I bring surprises to the chief plus their advisers 
Size me up, and you will find nothing's larger 
Catch more wreck on your dome, than a deranged fuckin barber 
So what you made some dough, you best keep on scramblin 
All your vanity, is instantly crushed, when I start handlin 
Demandin that you pay, for your weak rhyme display 
Coast to coast, I break the fakes everyday 

[Krumb Snatcha] 
I see myself as the black Rap Messiah 
Colossal spreadin my gospel through electrical wires 
Spit fire through speech, so I can reach each and every 
Tom Dick and Jerry slippin like petroleum jelly 
Too busy in the limelight, can't rhyme tight 
I got divine right to bring y'all to light 
Somethin ain't right, to be an MC, you gotta thug 
Or to thug you gotta be an MC, this shit is bugged 
Show love but few; deal with crew and crew only 
And think universal like Sony 
Phony pounds and fake hugs is usually avoided 
Give a f*ck like Pizza Hut I got to stay Noyd-ed 
Cause that same nigga you trust, could be that same cat 
behind that gat that bust, quiet ya, with the silencer 
Keep it hush, ashes to dust, then dust to ashes 
Nowadays it's who pull out the fastest, imagine this 
rap shit without this gat shit, or the phony cat 
in black talkin bout how much his Mac spit 
But this year, GangStarr got changes bein made 
No wack shit bein played no fake macks gettin paid 
No Versace MC's, with a mouth full of Mo' 
Soundin like a hoe spittin that old-fashioned show flow 
I bombshell that pastel Chanel rap through a Maxwell 
Ever since young Krumb, was taught to rap well 
Goin deep, process of thought, when my eyes closes 
Awaken with interpretive robe and sandals like Moses 
Travellin high sands and Eastern lands for the answers 
Ignorance is spreadin through the streets like it was cancer 
Too many drinkin not thinkin, when behind that trigger 
A 38 escalate the murder rate, for us niggaz 
it's like, microphone roulette cause nowadays MC's is gettin wet 
over someone else's fake gangsta rep

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