Gang Starr - Make 'Em Pay lyrics

rate me

[Guru]

First and foremost, some rappers are sweet like fructose

When I cock back these lyrics, y'all punks best be ghost

I be the seven twenty-one, eighteen twenty-one

The illest one, I'm almost doper than anyone

Straight out the late nights of Bed-Stuy

Steppin up, y'all put your weapons up, I make heads fly

You're artificial like saccarhin

You're crazy fake, it's more than skills you be lackin in

Concepts you bite, cause your identity ain't tight

Tryin to be somethin you're not, like pullin a knife at a gunfight

I'm troopin on night air like flight number 106

and gettin all up in your fuckin mix

You get me upset, and I got you uptight

cause my committee's in your city tonight, AIGHT?

We got seventeen million of us plus, two million Indians

That makes 19 mil, lightin shit up like Wild Bill

I be the, supreme father plus the ill kid with drama

My karma, creates the teflon to pierce your body armor

And make sure you check the shit before you walk to me, or talk to me

Steppin to me improperly, you just may catch the weaponry

My specialty is tearin tracks out the frame

You know my fuckin name, I rule all game

I'm universal on all planes, what's your claim?

[Guru]

Yo, I be your highness, in slickness, you chumps bear witness

Tremendous tropper, verbal nigga witht he fitness

Drop you for your spot with the blazer then I blast ya

Slice precise like Benihanas when I come to bring the dramas

Styles so swift, that you can't peep the God

as your lyrics get buried, six feet deep in my backyard

I laugh hard, while your mental I run through mazes

Dark stages of terror to shatter your dressing room mirror

Your whole error gets crushed, your whole show gets bumrushed

Too many dumb punks, want to enter this rap scene

Kickin Willie Bobo, but need to be slapped clean

into oblivion, the true champion always rises

I bring surprises to the chief plus their advisers

Size me up, and you will find nothing's larger

Catch more wreck on your dome, than a deranged fuckin barber

So what you made some dough, you best keep on scramblin

All your vanity, is instantly crushed, when I start handlin

Demandin that you pay, for your weak rhyme display

Coast to coast, I break the fakes everyday

[Krumb Snatcha]

I see myself as the black Rap Messiah

Colossal spreadin my gospel through electrical wires

Spit fire through speech, so I can reach each and every

Tom Dick and Jerry slippin like petroleum jelly

Too busy in the limelight, can't rhyme tight

I got divine right to bring y'all to light

Somethin ain't right, to be an MC, you gotta thug

Or to thug you gotta be an MC, this shit is bugged

Show love but few; deal with crew and crew only

And think universal like Sony

Phony pounds and fake hugs is usually avoided

Give a fuck like Pizza Hut I got to stay Noyd-ed

Cause that same nigga you trust, could be that same cat

behind that gat that bust, quiet ya, with the silencer

Keep it hush, ashes to dust, then dust to ashes

Nowadays it's who pull out the fastest, imagine this

rap shit without this gat shit, or the phony cat

in black talkin bout how much his Mac spit

But this year, GangStarr got changes bein made

No wack shit bein played no fake macks gettin paid

No Versace MC's, with a mouth full of Mo'

Soundin like a hoe spittin that old-fashioned show flow

I bombshell that pastel Chanel rap through a Maxwell

Ever since young Krumb, was taught to rap well

Goin deep, process of thought, when my eyes closes

Awaken with interpretive robe and sandals like Moses

Travellin high sands and Eastern lands for the answers

Ignorance is spreadin through the streets like it was cancer

Too many drinkin not thinkin, when behind that trigger

A 38 escalate the murder rate, for us niggaz

it's like, microphone roulette cause nowadays MC's is gettin wet

over someone else's fake gangsta rep