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Kool G RapKool G Rap 

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Kool G Rap

Nathaniel Thomas Wilson (born July 20, 1968), better known by his stage names Kool G Rap (or simply G Rap, and originally Kool Genius of Rap) is an American rapper. He hails from the Corona neighborhood of Queens, New York City. He began his career in the mid-1980s as one half of the group Kool G Rap & DJ Polo and as a member of the Juice Crew. He is often cited as one of the most influential and skilled MCs of all time as he is a pioneer of mafioso rap/street/hardcore content and multisyllabic rhyming. On his album The Giancana Story, he stated that the "G" in his name stands for "Giancana" (after the mobster Sam Giancana), but on other occasions he's stated that it stands for "Genius". more »

Year:

1992

3:40

6 Views

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"What are you going to do?" (2X) 
"Nigga!" 
"The K the double O the L the G are A P letters" 
"My mic sound nice check one" 
"The K the double O the L the G are A P letters" 
"Sound nice" (cut and scratched) 

Rougher than Gotti in tone 
Got a body harder than Flintstone 
Your girl got her skins boned 
I'm diggin her down with my skin tone 
It's Brown er than Bobby cause humpin is my hobby 
Down in the end zone, with mens, that made her friends moan 
Listen and learn and turn on your tuners if he looney 
? ? I break, bang zoom, like Honeymooners 
I don't want singers, but finger snappers, speaker slappers 
The wickeder rapper the dapper rapper's when I flap my trapper 
Got that ass gassed by Amoco, you know you ain't man to go 
dead up, head up, so I set up to slam a hoe 
I don't give a heck, but I don't peck on a redneck 
You want to pull cards, you're a dead deck, bed check 
Lead my from tec, come and step up and get your head red 
Wait a sec, you comin' to see what's left? 
I gotta catch my breath, rappers slayed 
or played like Jeff to the left 
And none of you nitwits can get with this hit shit 
You dipstics, even Miss kiss, but no lipstick 
I don't run a style but a mile to bust a child 
Big ol' snappy happy rappers smile like Gomer Pyle 
Hell, I'm ringin' bells with a ding-dong 
I play you like ping-pong 
You swingin' on my ding-a-long King Kong 
I pop bad cops, I got a pig a day habit 
Bing bing bang, just like the ricochet rapid 
Grab it, your sound is just like a lady baby, maybe 
you're old as Grady, still in the 80's, metaphors born in Haiti 
I pop to the top, now the hip-hop glock pop rocks 
Whenever it drops, I run over rappers at the record shop 
You name your best I'll say, who, like owls 
Pass me a towel, and I'ma move my bowels all over his vowels 
Bring ten men, then I'll send my venom in em 
You ain't gonna win em cause he got a women's momentum 
And I don't want to hear from this queer 
'Cause one of these niggaz just doesn't belong here 
My rhymes are like the nine millimeter Beretta 
'Cause anything rappers could do yo I could do it better 

"The K the double-O the L the G-are-A-P letters" 
"My mic sound nice, check two" 
"The K the double-O the L the G-are-A-P letters" 
"sound nice" (cut and scratched) 

You no-frill slow toy, cheap thrills, no joy 
My lyrical skills give me Pillsbury Doughboy 
Back, I'm packin' 'em up like Jack the Ripper 
Some pally'll I'm pullin' the zipper 
Finger popped, the better the batter or flipper 
You're out of date, you must be the Late Show, I hate those 
puttin on the brakes slow, uh-oh, better get Maaco 
Dead-on, head-on collision, bad decision 
You want to see me nigga you better check your vision 
It ain't twenty-twenty money silly bunny your funny 
Your ass'll get smashed just like a crash test dummy 
Retire, an MC that Oscar Meyer could take 
Some of you wacky rappers just play anyway 
that's be	-O-L-O-G-N-A 
So come and swing wild, mild child, and get your style hurt 
HEY HEY HEY! Should I say it's Fatter than Albert 
Play at your own risk, if you diss, got a lotta hot groups 
turnin cold, better go and sip on some Swiss Miss 
Inner city, actin like bitties, you're pussy 
so here kitty kitty, come get some milk from my hoe's titties 
Cross at the green not in between or get hit G 
Red light, green light, one two three 
Out for the dash, but in the flash, you shoulda let me pass 
'fore crash, now that ass is in a bodycast 
Everytime I put out my records and tapes 
Motherfuckers go bananas like this was Planet of the Apes 
Grapes I bust em like cherries and lay down, bitches purchase tickets 
to ride the dick and sit down it like a Greyhound 
Down with the clowns actin like killers, as good as wooden soldiers 
See niggaz, you ain't even Magilla Guerillas 
Bass in your face, stingin like mace 
I'm bringin the right taste, hangin like waist 
Pick up the pace

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