Track 21 from the 1999 album "This Or That" by Sway & King Tech.
Lyrics:
[Big Daddy Kane]
You in the perils of the lyrical heroes
That rule just like the pharoahs
Robert Dinero's got it covered just like sombreros
Seek shelter, here comes the warpath
Anyone who's tryin' to reign, I change the whole forecast
If I slip, half a herd he learned
This murder he earned turned his body to third-degree burns
You're purely pathetic, I won't let it
And once I set it, the after-party's in the paramedics
Vultures, come back when you get older
Talkin' like you're grown, you cats is Small Soldiers
Enough of them as the god muscle in, it's puzzlin'
You couldn't carry weight if you was hustlin'
Style ain't even de-cent, them not gonna squeeze none
Please dun, give me one rea-son
What I, say in a verse will be slayin' you worse
As I wet 'em up just for the sake of obeying my thirst
Anytime anywhere, without any fair
I'll do it with any hair, what da deal, ain't he there, wha wha what
What I do will be crucially brutally
Usually legal and rippin' stupidly, ain't nothin' new to me
What I spit attract felons, crack melons
Leave the chickenheads back swellin'
Game tight wit the way I'm livin'
I bag birds and I stuff em like Thanksgiving
My bad self, get more love than tennis
From New York to Venice
Black as a Guinness here to represent to live with the menace
To win The Apprentice, if your heart shows stealth
You better watch yo' self before I stop yo' health
Cause any props here baby, you ain't gettin'
You better recognize, the true and livin'
You played yourself fast, put two quarters in your ass
What I meant, arcades done went up to fifty cent
[Chino XL]
That lyric tarantula, Chino about to make this example of
Wit one verse, shittin' on a whole label roster sampler
My first name: Chino, my last name: Went There
Leavin' rappers curled up and dyed like Immature's hair
Wit lyrical warfare, when I spray shit
My style like AIDS, half a y'all got it just none of y'all is sayin' shit
I hate and spit at devils that want to posses Chi
Jesus came in the vocal booth, like "Nigga, you the next me"
So test me, battle and you will become a dead man
And there's a lot of fake Chino's like Craig Mack's a fake Redman
But I'm above the surface of this rap circus
Writin' more incredible verses on accident than you can on purpose
You a worthless waste of flesh, like fat asses on a nun
I'm God's bastard son, that blasts and thinks bloodbaths are fun
I hate you with a passion, make white chicks faint like I'm Hanson
Historically known for bringin' down the house like I'm Samson
My damn tongue bursts, in the the first verse there's a bad curse that hurts
I'm leavin' wack church passengers inside of a fast hearse
Escapin the wrath of Jerse
It's a sad earth when my pen dirts
Axe murderer type of massacre occurs if we match words
I'm past blurs, I smack herbs
Gritty-green eyes like Badu
Leavin' minds fucked up like Maxwell's hair-do
And I'mma be the sickest till I'm dead
The type to rent Halloween 4 eight times just to laugh at LL's head
My new album is Flo-Jo's heart, watch it blow up
You ain't just wack, you're what wack wants to be when it grows up
[Kool G Rap]
The Godfather saga, hit you dead in the chest like shots of Vodka
Funer-als crowded like soccer while I'm watchin' opera
Last like Sinatra, blast like Binaca
Binoculars is how I'm watchin' droppin' from the chopper
Mafia imposter
You're left for dead with your face inside of your plate of pasta
?Freddy in a hasa?, salute to my crew to prosper
You know how we do, we icepick the boulder
You get dabbed over glasses of ice with the Bolla
Blood on your shoulder, make costra nostra
Keepin' the heater with the toasters
Dough in the sofa, cashmeres and gator loafers
We bullet-proof the Rovers, pimp-smack you sober
Our whole crew is skippin' to lieutenants and soldiers
Flip on you the way Montana did to Minola
Condition vulgar holdin' on blowers older than Yoda
Leave bad odors when we give cobras crystal like Yoga
Colder than the caps that's in the Polar, bubble like soda
Bend these old Lola Falanas over
Cross me, cut our your momma's ovaries
Kid you know the steez, have your wake smellin' like potpourri
On the low-key, ship keys to over-seas
My shit gets sold quicker than groceries
K-double-O-L-and-G, you know it's me
*************
I do not own copyright.
If you like this type of content, please like and subscribe.
If you like this artist, always buy their cd's or vinyl.