[Guru]
|
Ah so now ya got me pissed off, blast off lift off
|
Time for me to twist off a vocal fist off
|
into your domepiece, Homepeace, I heard your chick wants to bone me
|
I get, wild like rugby, respected like Bugsy
|
Don't even ask me, cause I'm livin lovely
|
Born to succeed, foes bleed, true indeed
|
The oral combat will romp that, your one of my seeds
|
when I first, busted on the scene
|
Nigga, you knew I had more than a gangsta lean
|
I mean my lean is gangsta though so check it
|
I'll stick an MC for his spot and sign in blood on his wack record
|
Boo-ya-ka, to your face as I ruin ya
|
Clown ya, dumbfound ya, while I'm screwin the
|
fuck out cha girl as 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, ya garbage
|
And if you keep talkin shit, I'ma make ya pay homage
|
Cause the G to the U to the R-U, came too far to
|
let you slide through, rhymes will scar you
|
And who the fuck are you anyway?
|
I catch more wreck in a minute than if you rhyme for ten days
|
Throw the cash in the pot
|
You betta dash nigga, cause I'm blowin up the spot
|
|
"I'm bout to blow the fuck up"
|
* Premier scratches *
|
|
[Guru]
|
No ex-capin the explosion, those who are dozin, 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 ain't mad at cha
|
Peace to Jeru, the Big Shug and the Group Home
|
Keepin it real, no playin niggaz or chrome
|
I'm way past the kid shit, brothers already did shit
|
You want some props? Yo dog, here's a biscuit
|
I'm a smooth nigga and my groove's bigga, move nigga
|
And we don't care who's wit cha, got the picture?
|
And you don't wanna hear the burners go pop
|
Gang Starr motherfucker, what, blowin up the spot
|
|
"I'm bout to blow the fuck up"
|
* Premier scratches *
|
|
[Guru]
|
I go from one format then switch to the next
|
Reflex sets the pitch vocals rip through projects
|
Crazy shouts are heard all around
|
Cause the GangStarr sound carries more weight per pound
|
I got some brand new Timbs, so emcees sing new hymns
|
You betta repent, come correct, represent
|
or get stomped, smacked and slapped, cap peeled back
|
I got you open, and now you cling to my sac
|
Get off, hands off, stay off, you're way off
|
You rookie motherfuckers it's the finals not the playoffs
|
I'll break you up into particles, to small pieces
|
Because your brain is miniscule
|
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 thinkin that your jam is hot
|
Up steps the niggaz who be blowin up the spot
|
|
-----------------
|
Blowin' Up The Spot
|
| Gang Starr |