Blowin' Up The Spot 歌词
| 歌曲 | Blowin' Up The Spot |
| 歌手 | Gang Starr |
| 专辑 | Hard To Earn |
| 下载 | Image LRC TXT |
| 作曲 : Guru/DJ Premier/C.F. Martin | |
| 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 | |
| **** 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 **** 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 **** 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 mother****er, what, blowin up the spot | |
| "i'm bout to blow the **** 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 mother****ers 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 |
| zuo qu : Guru DJ Premier C. F. Martin | |
| 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 | |
| Booyaka, to your face as i ruin ya | |
| Clown ya, dumbfound ya, while i' m screwin the | |
| 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 ru, came too far to | |
| Let you slide through, rhymes will scar you | |
| And who the 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 up" | |
| premier scratches | |
| guru | |
| No excapin the explosion, those who are dozin, i close in | |
| Set the thermostat at subzero, 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 mother er, what, blowin up the spot | |
| " i' m bout to blow the 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 mother ers 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 |
| zuò qǔ : Guru DJ Premier C. F. Martin | |
| 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 | |
| Booyaka, to your face as i ruin ya | |
| Clown ya, dumbfound ya, while i' m screwin the | |
| 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 ru, came too far to | |
| Let you slide through, rhymes will scar you | |
| And who the 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 up" | |
| premier scratches | |
| guru | |
| No excapin the explosion, those who are dozin, i close in | |
| Set the thermostat at subzero, 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 mother er, what, blowin up the spot | |
| " i' m bout to blow the 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 mother ers 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 |
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