Y’all really think Ms. Shakur, or Ms. Wallace,
Or Ms. Mizell from out in Hollis
Wouldn’t exchange the love and fame
Attached to their loved ones’ names
Just to have ‘em still alive in their arms?
I admit skinz ain’t a reason to lose friends,
But then again I didn’t know. Sorry.
Lyrics are weak, like clock radio speakers.
You can’t bite my style cause my style ain’t a style that is a style so I can go buckwild.”
Nigga hit me on the Sidekick sayin’ he gon’ shoot me:
Soundin’ like a real groupie.
He a bitch with a heater like Lara Croft,
He gonna get his ass wet like Noah’s Ark.
Got the choppa won’t hesitate to squeeze,
Get his ass cut like a Whopper with Cheese.
…And Sunday’s the one day I rest, give thanks, and bless.
Educated: no. Stupid: yes.
And when I say “stupid,” I mean stupid fresh.
Now we feel the good vibrations…
So many females, so much inspiration.
I cannot stand no wack MC.
So step back if you please,
And don’t test me, you’re history.
They say the good die young, so the bad die old.
Guess we somewhere in the middle, so just pray for my soul.
New York, New York, big city of dreams,
Where there’s nothing but foreign cars, bitches, and triple beams.
How can polar bears swing on vines with the gorillas?
I like ‘em brown, yellow, Puerto Rican or Haitian.
We speak the love language, they speak from pain and anguish.
Some don’t love theyselves, so they perception is tainted.
Say somethin’ positive? Well positive ain’t where I live.
I live right around the corner from West Hell,
Two blocks from South Shit, and once in a jail cell.
Ain’t no tellin’ what I’d do for a dollar…
I’m not your father, but guess what I’mma do to ya mama.
Yo, you don’t think you’re going under?
I got a bullet with your name, your address, and your phone number.
I once caught a bid, I never hit skid,
Never date a girl if the girl got a kid.
Nahhh…papa’s got a brand new bag
And I never hit skinz once they sag.
Too many MC’s take that word ‘emcee’ lightly;
They can’t Move a Crowd, not even slightly.
I got styles sick as hell, sicker than sickle cell anemia,
Slaughter your circulatory like leukemia.
Ain’t no love lost, cause there was never none there.
I’d rather die enormous than live dormant.
I’m your Mr., you my Mrs. with hugs and kisses,
Valentine cards and birthday wishes?
Please…be on another level of planning, of understanding
The bond between man and woman and child.
The highest elevation, cause we above
All that romance crap, just show your love.
Flawless victory, y’all niggas can’t do shit to me:
Physically, lyrically, hypothetically, realistically.
If I should die this very day,
Don’t cry…cause on Earth
We wasn’t meant to stay.
…I’ve never had a dream in my life,
Because a dream is what you wanna do, but still haven’t pursued.
I knew what I wanted, and did it till it was done.
So I’ve been the dream I wanted to be since Day One.
…Had dreams of fancy cars and limos,
And all I wanted was somebody to listen to my demo.
Fuck Batman and Robin: I’m robbin’ with a bat, man.
I’m somethin’ serious like Crips that bust gats,
Ignorant with it like Bloods that bust back.
You’re lookin’ at the Fridge, I’m the rookie.
I may be large, but I’m no dumb cookie.
You’ve seen me hit, you’ve seen me run,
When I kick and pass, we’ll have more fun.
I can dance, you will see,
The others, they all learn from me.
I don’t come here lookin’ for trouble,
I just came here to do the Super Bowl Shuffle.
Although I hit a pound of herbs, I’m still nice with the verbs.
So fuck what ya heard.
Your whole vocabulary’s played out, admit it.
Still wack if it came out my mouth and I spit it.
I call you once…you never dialed back.
Twice…you never dialed back.
Saturday morning, live, I’m on Soul Train, talkin’ to Don Cornelius.
Saturday night, my phone rings…
Saturday night, I won’t answer.
Saturday night, my phone rings again…
Saturday night, I don’t answer.
When I hit the skins they all say, ‘Damn Kane…
You knock out the Bush like a presidential campaign!’
God damn! Drug dealers dealin’ to the kiddies,
Livin’ in the city ain’t no pity on the itty-bitty.
We try to cry, but still they all die,
I try to speak to the youth, and the truth is: they all high.
The mind tricks the body,
Body thinks the mind is crazy…
According to Guru (RIP): “Streetwise poetry and turntable wizardry.”- from “Flip the Script,” off of Gang Starr’s Daily Operation, 1992
I don’t feel pain cause it’s all in the mind,
And what’s mines is mines and yours is mine!
I never ever ran from the Ku Klux Klan, and I shouldn’t have to run from a black man.
I find it’s distressin’, there’s never no in-between:
We either niggaz or kings,
We either bitches or queens.
The deadly ritual seems immersed in the perverse,
Full of short attention spans, short tempers, and short skirts.
When I need bread, I grab the toaster and stick niggas for they crumbs.
I’m from Jerz, the home of: “I could’ve swore I parked my car right here!”
I know how it feels to wake up fucked up,
Pockets broke as hell, another rock to sell.
People look at you like you’s the user,
Selling drugs to all the losers, mad buddha abuser.
But they don’t know about the stress-filled day…
Baby on the way, mad bills to pay,
That’s why you drink Tanqueray,
So you can reminisce and wish
You wasn’t living so devilish, shit.
They say jealousy is a serious disease.
So I’mma say a prayer for you dudes,
Hope you motherfuckers get well soon.
You got a man? That’s somethin we will talk about.
He’s smart enough to have ya, but dumb enough to let ya out.
Pull down the shades on the windows of your soul,
And gaze into your mind and watch the wisdom unfold…
Rosa Parks sat so Martin Luther could walk,
Martin Luther walked so Barack Obama could run,
Barack Obama ran so all the children could fly…
So, I’mma spread my wings, you can meet me in the sky.
…Not to mention, I take authority horribly.
Fuck a job, nigga, that conversation just bores me.