The way mothers feel for they sons, how fathers feel for they daughters;
When he date, he straight, chip off his own papa.
When she date, we wait behind the door with the sawed off,
Cause we think no one is good enough for our daughters.
Tag Archives: new york
My style is strong like hard lumber;
Cute chicks get the dick,
Ugly bitches get the wrong number.
Don’t mourn me when I’m gone, celebrate my travels;
Whenever you need me, just take a plane to the astral zones.
You tried keeping it real, but you should try keeping it right.
I give you life decoded,
Nicely quoted.
A simple right or left
Can mean life or death.
Epic fail, or nice success,
Days of pleasure…nights of stress.
Fuck the world, don’t ask me for shit,
Everything you get you gotta work hard for it.
Honeys shake your hips, you don’t stop,
And niggas pack the clips, keep on…
Now Joe wanna be like Bob,
Bob got it goin’ on with no job.
And everything Rob got he got from Robin,
And everything she got, she got ho-hoppin’.
My girl Jilly wanna be like Jackie,
Fat rope chains and I think that’s wick-wacky.
Tom and Dick wanna be like Harry,
Little do they know he’s bitin’ on Barry…
There’s four developing stages in the art of hip-hop,
And most of them developed from the snap, crackle and pop.
The first was the usage of an actual band,
The second was a drum machine made by a man,
The third was the human beatbox and percussion,
The fourth in line was samplin’ and the book of rhyme bustin’.
I mastered The Art of War before a nigga read Sun Tzu,
Third degree black-belt, master of Gun-Fu.
Pop pills, smoke weed, even get drunk too;
And you do what you can, and I do what I want to.
Been tested, ain’t fail: I’m tried and true.
When it’s all falling apart, my pride’s the glue.
I felt at times worthless…
Pulled shifts with shifty crime merchants,
Stained hearts, brainwashed by mind serpents.
The fact I’m still here, it’s clear it’s divine purpose.
Attention! Follow directions real close:
Keep out of reach of children, beware of overdose.
Too many milligram, but what made a iller jam?
My rhyme is the rhythm of thoughts that kill a man.
Ideas for the ear to fear, might split ‘em;
He’ll never forget ’em…he’ll rest in peace wit ’em.
At least when he left he’ll know what hit ’em:
The last breath of the words of death was ‘The Rhythm.’
I keep the ugly rhymes in the cellar of my cranium,
Where no one can see them or hear cries for freedom.
Chopped up raw thoughts the only thing I feed ‘em,
Release the beats from the cellar when I need ‘em.
I do my thing like B.B. King, my microphone is named Lucille.
Hey kid, walk straight, master your high.
They been calling me a criminal for so damn long,
Start to believe they right…and they gon’ make me do something wrong.
You see me in the hood, you think I’m trynna rob you.
I’m just talking to you when you think I’m trynna con you?
No matter what, they gon’ call me a crook.
So you think I give a fuck if I look like a motherfuckin’ criminal?
You can see the weakness of a man right through his iris.
Now it’s my turn, and I am concerned
About idiots posing as kings.
What are we here to rule?
I thought we were supposed to sing.
And if we oughta sing, then let us begin to teach.
Many of you are educated…open your mouth and speak!
They say it’s lonely at the top, in whatever you do,
You always gotta watch motherfuckers around you.
Nobody’s invincible, no plan is foolproof,
We all must meet our Moment of Truth.
Guru, “Moment of Truth,” from Gang Starr’s Moment of Truth, 1998
Stop walking through life as if you were blind,
You should reach for your goal cause I’m reaching for mine.
More rhymes are funny now, happy and silly now.
Happy-go-lucky on the mic, and meanwhile,
You standin’ still, lookin out for a good rhyme,
Makin the wack junk, wastin’ my good time.
I’m just a bastard with a bad habit,
Bad back, in a black Volkswagen Rabbit
…Shit, I gotta have it.
Black magic woman put a spell on me;
Fuck around and win a spelling bee.
I could walk under ladders, still win the lotto.
Ten minutes flat: built a boat in a bottle.
The scene of a crime every night at the show,
The fiend of a rhyme on the mic that you know.
It’s only one capable; breaks, the unbreakable.
Melodies, unmakable; pattern, unescapable.
This ain’t the world we thought it was when we as in pre-school.
Sometimes it’s hard to be cool, sometimes I feel like I’m see-through.
Sometimes I really wish…I wish that I could be you.
I used to want a Beemer, I used to want a Benz.
One thing that I never wanted was fake friends in the end.
Brothers on the butters can’t flip the Parkay.
Make peace not war, make babies some more, Keep a smile when you travel from shore to shore.
My peoples: if you with me where the fuck you at?
I’m a true master, you can check my credentials
Cause I choose to use my infinite potential.
I’ll never understand why a wack rapper tries and
Convinces himself that his image is so fly and
That’s the type of crap you know I’m not buying…
Chumps lack the beats and their rhymes don’t apply.
30 rack on a neck of a artist (Say what?)
About another 20K on his arm (Say what?)
This nigga flashin’ 50 grand,
Walk around here, lookin like food for the wolves.
Listen! Illuminati rap: we don’t ride to that,
Everybody poppin’ molly…look at how they act.
(Y’all sweatin’) The whole place emotional,
Wake up to find out some dude’s Frank Ocean’ed you.
Who gives a fuck about a goddamn Grammy?
It’s like every step bring me close to destiny,
And every breath I get closer to the death of me.
I’m just tryna carry out my own legacy,
But the place I call home ain’t lettin’ me.
Fear is weakness, learn from what experience teaches.
Beware of leeches, the vampires, my secrets…
Never follow, cause most niggas is straight up cowards.
Take care of my body’s the temple, my mind is the power.
Classical slap-stick rappers need Chapstick.
I’ll ignore you sellin crack, killin people, and keepin it real,
But disrespect me and my adopted fam and die young like veal.
Now if I worry too much about all my have nots,
I might not recognize just what I’ve got…
“All I see is blinking lights, track boards and fat mics. 950s, SP-12s, MPC60s…”
– A.G., “Next Level,” from Show & A.G.’s Goodfellas, 1995. DJ Premier closes down the legendary D&D Studios (aka HeadQCourterz) today and migrates to Kaufman Astoria Studios in Queens. The recording den, where Rakim, KRS-One, Jay Z, Nas and Gang Starr made some of hip-hop’s most canonized songs, will come to a close in 2015 due to new building ownership.
You got a lot of money; OK, sure…
You can’t buy class, you’re a bum with a manicure.
Happiness is temporary, always has been.
I just lost one…but sometimes I win,
I always spread love…but sometimes I sin.
Wrote this lyric from in the bed wit’ a chick
She had the tightest grip around the head of my…
…Bic. Now, can I get my pen back?
I’m pain in the spoken form;
This new strain came from where hope is gone.
You were put here to protect us.
But who protects us from you?
Full moons, skunk weed all up in the room;
You got the munchies, baby? Ice cold milk and Lorna Doones.
I’m that neighborhood blizzard flooding these streets with snow.
My duration’s infinite, money-wise or physiology.
I’mma tell you a little somethin about this chick around my way,
She was a dime with a brown skin complexion…
She looked so good you’d think you wouldn’t need protection,
Girlfriend was top choice selection, around in every section.
They got twisted, she said “No condom,” so he risked it,
Caught in the mix and now you sick kid.
Word is bond, I thought by now you learned your lesson:
Fucking around with no protection.
A thin line between the haters and the ones who love us.
A thinner line from the freedom and the foul judges,
In the streets where the snake niggas hold grudges.
It’s for real though, let’s connect, politic…ditto!
We could trade places, get lifted in the staircases,
Word up, peace, incarcerated scarfaces.
Believers of Jesus be denouncing Satan on every level,
But every Halloween they’re dressin’ like devils.
I knew this girl named Tropicana,
She’s always juicin’.
Producing cash for a sexual task.
She loves men that trick like Halloween and treat…
You ain’t paid? Then your grade is incomplete.
Now when freaks get dressed to go out at night,
They like to wear leather jackets, chains and spikes.
They wear rips and zippers all in their shirts,
Real tight pants and fresh mini skirts.
All kinds of colors runnin’ through their hair,
And you could just about find a freak anywhere.
But then again, you could know someone all their life,
But might not know they’re a freak unless you see them at night.
My vocab is powerful, spit shit subliminal,
Slang therapist, my whole style is criminal.
Bugged like Bob Digital, fly visual,
Mind, body and soul, I’m a strong individual…
Come through in the final hour, with gun showers
Stand the fuck up like Flav to fight the power.
I’m an activist, socialist, deadly ass poetist
Supreme Clientele, I’m a goddamn vocalist!
Rap is not pop. If you call it that, then stop.
Rap is like a set-up…a lot of games,
A lot of suckers with colorful names.
‘I’m so-and-so,’ ‘I’m this, I’m that.’
But they all just wick-wick-wack.
They’d rather see me fail than succeed,
That’s why I’m alone on my own with no team.
Don’t need no green, though I got some to spend;
In the end…all I really need is a friend.
My mic is a Magnum.
See me and this chick, we go back like Cro-Magnon.
Man…we did it in the back of your Magnum;
I said, ‘Put them Lifestyles back, give me the Magnums.’
Excuse us for the news,
You might not be amused;
But did you know White comes from Black?
No need to be confused.
Black boy, black boy, turn that shit down.
You know that America don’t wanna hear the sound
Of the bass drum jungle music, go back to Africa,
Nigga I’ll arrest ya if you’re holding up traffic.I’ll be damned if I listen, so cops save your breath
And write another ticket if you have any left.
And I’m breaking eardrums while I’m breaking the law,
I’m disturbing all the peace cause Sister Soldier said ‘War!’So catch me if you can, if you can, here’s a donut,
Cause once you drive away, yo, you know I’m gonna go nuts.
And turn it up to where it was before, nice try!
But you can’t stop the power of the bass in your eye.
Chop suey don’t do me no good,
I gotta have corn beef and cabbage if I wanna manage.
I never eat pig, but I’ll fuck up a potato,
I’m not a dago, but pasta’s all that.
Sometimes I look up at the stars and analyze the sky,
And ask myself: was I meant to be here…why?
This ain’t no alien conspiracy theory, this shit is real;
Written on the dollar underneath the Masonic seal.
And just so Conservatives don’t take it to heart,
I don’t think Bush did it, ‘cause he isn’t that smart.
He’s just a stupid puppet taking orders on his cell phone,
From the same people that sabotaged Senator Wellstone.
The military industry got it poppin’ and lockin’,
Looking for a way to justify the Wolfowitz Doctrine.
And as a matter of fact, Rumsfeld, now that I think back:
Without 9/11, you couldn’t have a war in Iraq,
Or a Defense budget of world conquest proportions.
Kill freedom of speech and revoke the right to abortions,
Tax cut extortion, a blessing to the wealthy and wicked,
But you still have to answer to the Armageddon you scripted.
And Dick Cheney? You fuckin leech, tell them your plans:
About building your pipelines through Afghanistan,
And how Israeli troops trained the Taliban in Pakistan.
You might have some house niggaz fooled, but I understand.
Colonialism is sponsored by corporations,
That’s why Halliburton gets paid to rebuild nations.
Tell me the truth, I don’t scare into paralysis,
I know the CIA saw Bin Laden on dialysis
In ’98 when he was Top Ten for the FBI.
Government ties is really why the government lies,
Read it yourself instead of asking the government why
‘Cause then the Cause of Death will cause the propaganda to die.
The government pimped 9/11 to go to Iraq,
And history repeats itself right on track. (How?)
First as a tragedy, and then the comedy begins. (Why?)
Cause it’s funny, motherfuckers don’t see it come around again.
The military ain’t there for the people’s protection,
They’re just there to protect an investment.
That’s why people get arrested, electrocuted, molested,
Connected streets are infested with those tired of protesting.
Traumatized children grown in guerrilla garrisons,
9/11 generations pale in comparison.
And you will learn a lesson repeated through history:
That no matter what you think, occupation is not victory.
The Devil crept into Heaven, God overslept on the 7th,
The New World Order was born on September 11.
You can’t tell a motherfucker what to do with his life,
Niggaz tend to live trife…so I react with the mic.
Many have forgotten what we came here for,
Never knew or had a clue, so you’re on the floor.
Just growin’ not known’ about your past…
Now you’re lookin’ pretty stupid while you’re shakin’ your ass.
Spottin’ fools frontin’ fly, girls act material.
…You live at home with your mom.
No-frill rappers: you will evaporate, disintegrate, deflate to your fate,
as the great will dominate straight to the state
Of reignin’, gainin’…So put Kane in
That category. Period. End of story.
Took a vow to protect and serve,
All you do is disrespect and murder.
I ask that you not hurt my kids;
This is where you work…this is where I live.
Once you find your lane, you can’t cruise;
When you define the game, you can’t lose.
And through our travels we get separated, never forget:
In order to survive, got to learn to live with regrets.
Tell ‘em the truth and they call you a traitor,
Talk to ’em honestly and they call you a hater.
We could fight the fuss till we get like friends,
Or somebody bite the dust and we split like ends.
Even in our wildest moments, girl, I’m on it cause you’re worth it.
Practice makes perfect, so we fightin’ for a purpose.
Fuck the Febreze, I’m stinkin’ like that Ol’ Dirty Bastard.
That’s that Wu and Mobb shit; don’t turn it up…blast it.
This is business: they don’t care about your lyrics;
The better you sell, the better future for their children.
Controversy sells, so they support conflict,
Makes more progress, means more profit.
An artist gets killed, they say they’re ‘so sorry,’
Meanwhile, they tell you the date of his next project.
What a life…death made them more profit:
Record companies get paid for your drama.
Rappers hate each other, not the labels that got rich,
Don’t care about culture, they only want profit.
If your album sell slow, bet you’ll get dropped quick;
Q-Tip warned us: the industry’s toxic.
For reference, check out BDP’s Sex and Violence.
Different day, same shit, ain’t nothing good in the hood,
I’d run away from this bitch and never come back, if I could.
Damn it’s a shame you’re the mighty queen of vials,
With a wide-eyed look and a rotten-toothed smile.
Used to walk with a swagger, now you simply stagger
From one spot on, to the next spot on, to the next spot on, to the next…
Squeeze 7cc’s so I could see the seven seas,
And CC all my friends so they could see what I was seeing…
But what they saw was a despicable human being;
So, I guess they just wasn’t seeing what I was seeing.
The Nets’ a stone throw from where I used to throw bricks
…So it’s only right I’m still tossing ‘round Knicks.
You named them: hustlers, killers, fiends, ex-cons.
I called them: cousins, aunts, pops, moms.
To you? Hoodlums, crackheads, gunmens.
To me? Just neighbors, classmates, young friends.
Girls, don’t run that shit that beauty’s only skin deep,
Cause I don’t want no girl with a Brillo face,
Or the type that’ll leave Jheri Curl juice on my pillow case.
My life is a blunt to the head, a prayer for the dead,
Run around hustlin…scared of the feds.
They said death is eternal sleep,
But the only thing is you ain’t really sure if you prepared for the bed.
I’m a cold winter morning, y’all Summer’s Eve.
These internet thugs ain’t doin’ a thing,
Got caught with the Google Chrome…now they in the Bing.
I got a smile that’ll make the mirror crack,
And I seem to stay under clouds that’s pitch black.
So when it rains, it pours, and when it pours, I’m soaked.
I contracted lung cancer from third hand smoke,
And I’m like the frog that’s dying to be a prince,
The boy who cried wolf and no one was convinced.
The man who hit lotto and lost his ticket,
In a rainstorm…and struck by lightning trying to get it.
Life is real, reality is not a dream.
Those who chose to sleep…I wake em up,
Cause you’re sleepin with your mouth open hummin deez nuts.
Shorty, let me tell you about my only vice:
It has to do with lots of lovin’, and it ain’t nuttin’ nice.
Truth brings light, light refracts off the mirror,
Visions of yourself and error could never be clearer.
The truth is that you ugly…
Not on the outside, but in the inside;
On the outside, you frontin’ you lovely.
Don’t clock anybody, let them all clock you,
Don’t be down with anybody, let them all be down with you.
Stay self-managed, self-kept, self-taught,
Be your own man; don’t be borrowed, don’t be bought.
They’d rather hate you for the truth than love you for the lies.
What the fuck happened to reality-spitting rhyme sayers?
These days, everybody trying to be a thug or a player.
Where did all the real motherfuckers go in the game?
Bring back the breakdancers and graffiti writers with fame.
I switched my motto:
Instead of sayin’ ‘Fuck tomorrow,’
That buck that bought a bottle
Coulda struck the Lotto.
It was the beauty that caught me and held my soul hostage…
Remember those days? Had you smellin’ my boxers.
Why did one straw break the camel’s back?
Here’s the secret:
The million other straws underneath it.
This is for my bitches in the shelters that don’t need shelter, you just doin’ that shit for a crib.
And all my bad little bitches, when your baby father hits you, stick a ice cold knife in his ribs.
And all my bitches pimp the system, get your WIC, tell your workers, “Fuck that,” you gon’ have more kids.
And you ain’t have ‘em cause you need ’em, but now you gotta feed em, so you figure that your ass gon’ strip.
I’d rather make one righteous dollar on my level
Than make a million dollars spittin’ rhymes for the devil.