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Stage One: |
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They call me bad lieutenant when my eyes are squinted |
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Child of the seventies and the eighties was in it |
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Lost the first homeboy in the 9-0 and liable |
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To get the gun bucking at 5-0, we tribal |
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I'm from a place where the niggas is jelly |
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And pretend to be your friend and put one your belly |
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And you can keep on yelling, the cops won't come |
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You want beef, we got burgers and then some |
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We from the era when we learned on our own |
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Running wild in the streets with both parents at home |
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Kind of hard to find a young un alone - caused we was crewed up |
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Tagging on the walls, turf wars and getting chewed up |
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St. Paul Slim: |
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Now I don't know about y'all, but I'm 'bout to make a small fortune |
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By taking small things and blowing 'em out of proportion |
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Using sarcasm as my second language |
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Look mom, I'm famous, I mean I'm flagrant |
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You say you write your best rhymes when you high? |
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I say I write my best rhymes cause I'm fly |
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This is why I'm cold on Minnesota nights |
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If you want my CD, I will give you special price |
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He he he, take Trummond's advice |
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St. Paul Slim the best, homie, none of it's hype |
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So please lil' asshole, keep your mouth closed |
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'Fore your momma be like "Look at my son, he out cold!" |
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Muja Messiah: |
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You could tell I'm focused by the look in my eye |
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You could see I'm dirty by how clean my kicks is |
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You know, I tell the truth, I got no reason to lie |
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Hey, like I tell my chicks "You ain't got a lotta kick it" |
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All I'm trying to do is get a piece of the pie |
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And turn these bricks into a legit business |
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Now run along and go home to your wives |
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And leave me and Slug here to play with these bitches |
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You know I spit the sickest sickness since syphilis |
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Mixed with malaria, fuck it, the more the merrier |
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B-Boy, D-Boy, yep I'm in your area |
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Muja Messiah, uh huh, hello America |
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YZ: |
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Yo, yo, y'all wack, yo, what the fuck is new? |
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I'm back with Atmos and the crew |
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To do this you need style, I thought you knew |
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It's not a diss, yo, it's just my point of view |
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Maybe if I turn sideways, y'all niggas will |
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Throw lyrics my way instead of the highway |
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Now getting ran over by cars and Land Rovers |
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We starred, you sub par, maybe send your man over |
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Pardon, you going step to this |
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Spit phat, not anorexic shit |
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Come stacked, boy, it ain't no need to go there |
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I knock rappers out, y'all scratch and pull hair |
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Brother Ali: |
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I hustle hard for the love of god |
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My life has been the biggest struggle from the bloody start |
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I knuckle up and throw the hands, I'm a thug at heart |
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So when the shit hit the fan, I don't come apart |
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I breathe and shrug it off |
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Atmosphere - the Big Brother's big brothers |
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Catch is here to turn king to wrist cutters |
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Just trust it ain't no regular shit |
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That's a polite asshole and a sensitive pimp |
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You would think it was a party, not a Cadillac |
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Church mosque, have a knack |
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Dr. Dre Training Day rappers don't know how to act |
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Remove 'em all from my sight, like a cataract |
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Poof! It's a magic act |
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Toki Wright: |
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Walk over beats like DMC, three stripes |
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Thievery, three strikes, |
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Visa need three swipes |
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DVDs, jeans, clean cuts, brush dandruff |
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Mobile phones, student loan, courted blown pampers |
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Chilling at the party in my B-Boy stance |
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And they looking at me funny, why, cause they can't dance |
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So I'm cutting up and strutting up, I'm buttercup but just enough |
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To lean on top of this metropolis with binoculars |
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Walk like a pimp, think like a Macintosh |
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Battle scars, off to try to figure out your avatar |
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Leave the cameras on, told your partner that he can't perform |
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Brought a torch to burn the building, he think I'ma hand it to him |
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Blueprint: |
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Yeah, yeah, I solemnly swear |
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To fight the good fight as long as I'm here |
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But sometimes the good fight don't seem fair |
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Cause all the best soldiers we had ain't here |
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They gone now, we all on our own now |
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And most of those left ain't got no style |
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You give 'em a inch they try to take a whole mile |
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Too overconfident to keep a low profile |
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Pump your brakes, stay in your lane |
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A bunch of fakes chasing fame |
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I'll punch your face and take your chains |
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Sit your five dollar ass down before I make change |
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Slug: |
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Break these chips down, count your business |
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Ain't nothing free, it's a James Brown Christmas |
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So god bless the underground now and give it |
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To the sound of the drums, won't none of us outlive it |
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I treat hip hop like a sport |
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Stay on my game, put my time on the court |
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While you complain and get high some more |
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Might explain why your team can't find support |
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Now catch me in the back with a whiskey |
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Chatting up a missy, like I'm attractive and witty |
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I have to dip to do my raps and get busy |
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Why don't you come see me when I'm back in your city? |
