Bullets ain’t racial, kid…they only hate you.
Kool G. Rap, “The Realest,” from Mobb Deep’s Murda Muzik, 1999
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Back in the days was kinda crazy, kid: I started out with nothin’.
Wasn’t livin’ like Thanksgiving; I was turkey without the stuffin’.
A letter to you suckers,
Each and every one of you duck muthafuckas…
Your girl puckers her lips, so I stuck her.
I’m givin’ more flat lines to niggas than loose-leaf.
A rap villain: chillin’ and I don’t give a fuck about a killin’ cause I’m still in effect when you’re illin’.
A prejudiced man is of a devil mentality.
These are words of a wise man, wisdom;
Take a taste and erase the racism.
Yo, you don’t think you’re going under?
I got a bullet with your name, your address, and your phone number.
You know the evil that men do, hell is where the men go.
We snatched him by his hands and feet and threw him out the window:
“Up, up, and away cause I don’t play, clown,
Buck, buck, buck, take that with you on the way down.”
I’m hoping you got springs and wings on your shoes,
But you lose, because I got the Ill Street Blues.
You want ass? The cash is first.
You got dead presidents, baby, I got a hearse in my purse.
Makin’ veterans run for medicine,
Cause I put out more lights in a fight than ConEdison.