If I should die this very day,
Don’t cry…cause on Earth
We wasn’t meant to stay.
…I’ve never had a dream in my life,
Because a dream is what you wanna do, but still haven’t pursued.
I knew what I wanted, and did it till it was done.
So I’ve been the dream I wanted to be since Day One.
…Had dreams of fancy cars and limos,
And all I wanted was somebody to listen to my demo.
Fuck Batman and Robin: I’m robbin’ with a bat, man.
I’m somethin’ serious like Crips that bust gats,
Ignorant with it like Bloods that bust back.
You’re lookin’ at the Fridge, I’m the rookie.
I may be large, but I’m no dumb cookie.
You’ve seen me hit, you’ve seen me run,
When I kick and pass, we’ll have more fun.
I can dance, you will see,
The others, they all learn from me.
I don’t come here lookin’ for trouble,
I just came here to do the Super Bowl Shuffle.
Although I hit a pound of herbs, I’m still nice with the verbs.
So fuck what ya heard.
Your whole vocabulary’s played out, admit it.
Still wack if it came out my mouth and I spit it.
I call you once…you never dialed back.
Twice…you never dialed back.
Saturday morning, live, I’m on Soul Train, talkin’ to Don Cornelius.Saturday night, my phone rings…
Saturday night, I won’t answer.
Saturday night, my phone rings again…
Saturday night, I don’t answer.
When I hit the skins they all say, ‘Damn Kane…
You knock out the Bush like a presidential campaign!’
God damn! Drug dealers dealin’ to the kiddies,
Livin’ in the city ain’t no pity on the itty-bitty.
We try to cry, but still they all die,
I try to speak to the youth, and the truth is: they all high.
The mind tricks the body,
Body thinks the mind is crazy…
According to Guru (RIP): “Streetwise poetry and turntable wizardry.”- from “Flip the Script,” off of Gang Starr’s Daily Operation, 1992
I don’t feel pain cause it’s all in the mind,
And what’s mines is mines and yours is mine!
I never ever ran from the Ku Klux Klan, and I shouldn’t have to run from a black man.
I find it’s distressin’, there’s never no in-between:
We either niggaz or kings,
We either bitches or queens.
The deadly ritual seems immersed in the perverse,
Full of short attention spans, short tempers, and short skirts.
When I need bread, I grab the toaster and stick niggas for they crumbs.
I’m from Jerz, the home of: “I could’ve swore I parked my car right here!”
I know how it feels to wake up fucked up,
Pockets broke as hell, another rock to sell.
People look at you like you’s the user,
Selling drugs to all the losers, mad buddha abuser.
But they don’t know about the stress-filled day…
Baby on the way, mad bills to pay,
That’s why you drink Tanqueray,
So you can reminisce and wish
You wasn’t living so devilish, shit.
You got a man? That’s somethin we will talk about.
He’s smart enough to have ya, but dumb enough to let ya out.
Pull down the shades on the windows of your soul,
And gaze into your mind and watch the wisdom unfold…
I guess I was a combination of House of Pain and Bobby Brown:
I was humpin’ around and jumpin’ around!
…Not to mention, I take authority horribly.
Fuck a job, nigga, that conversation just bores me.
Every little boy wanna pick up the mic,
And try to run with the big boys and live up to the real hype.
But that’s like pickin up a ball, playin with Mike,
Swingin at Ken Griffey or challengin’ Roy to a fight.
Friday the 13th…I’mma play Jason!
It don’t make sense: either you a soldier from the start,
Or a actor with a record deal tryin’ to play the part.
Fuck a moment of silence…I need a moment of violence.
You can call it hell…
But I say it’s below the heavens.
A forty and a blunt, that’s all she really wants.
Look past the garbage, over the trains,
Under the ruins, through the remains,
Around the crime and pollution,
And tell me…where I fit in?
Why is it a honey act like she don’t want to be bothered?
But after the tappin’, she yappin’ like she want her children fathered?
Uh oh, it’s beer o’clock, I think I’m sober.
How about we think this over, over a can of King Cobra?
Every time the ball drop on New Year’s Eve,
We toast to more money, we smoke to more cheese…
1988 1990 1991 1992 1993 1994 1995 1996 1998 1999 2011 2012 2013 2014 atlanta brooklyn death dj premier east coast girls Guns hip-hop humor life los angeles love lyrics midwest money nas new york philosophy queens queensbridge Rap Quote RZA South south bronx staten island truth weed west coast wisdom wordplay wu-tang clan
Mental energy from within keeps me higher,
Than anything rolled and set on fire
A rap pro, do a show, good to go, also
Cameo afro, Virgo, domino, I go Rambo,
Gigolo, Romeo, Friday night spend money on a ho…tel,
To get a good night’s sleep, I’m keeping in step.
Now do I come off? Yep.
You can play with the bass, fuck around with the treble,
Or you can play with the base, and turn powder to pebble.
‘That buck that bought the bottle coulda struck the lotto.’
To invest in scratch tickets is a fucked up motto.
You might win some, but you just lost one.
If you can’t respect that, your whole perspective is wack.
Maybe you’ll love me when I fade to black.
Linguine linguistics that left my verbal essence saucy,
Send a message, leave you sleepin’ next to headless horsey.
Smell the pinetrees in the air, sleigh bells are ringing,
Toy stores are out of control, and kids singing.
That night before Christmas, dashing through the snow,
Rudolph the Reindeer, red nose that glow.
It’s all about the candy canes and Christmas list,
North Pole and that chubby, jolly, old Saint Nick,
The little elves getting busy, in Santa workshop
And how gingerbread men keep they buttons on top.
Wooden soldiers and chestnuts, roasting like marshmallows
Goodfellas, chocolate pudding pops and Jell-O’s.
It’s the gift, the cookies and milk on the mantle,
The mistletoe, that scent from that peppermint candles,
That warm French vanilla, mean coat with zippers,
Bareskin robe dragon with Versace slippers.
Around the fireplace we breathe, shirts are short sleeve,
We stayin’ up all night on Christmas Eve!
Do some good to the ghetto, Mr. Kris Kringle.
Come and stay awhile, kick it with God’s Angels.
Take and acknowledge my wisdom and understand
That Santa Claus is a black man.
A born terror, a rebel without a pause…
Ain’t never had a good Christmas, so who is Santa Claus?
See, you’re out your mind tryin’ to face tha God.
Your rhyme is like an empty prison…a waste of bars.
Our freedom of speech is freedom or death,
We got to fight the powers that be!
Rap is not pop. If you call it that, then stop.
Butterfly, searchin for a relax,
Pullin from the jazz stacks, cause it’s Sunday.
On the air is incense, sounds to the ceiling
Tried to get this feelin since Monday.
I be tossin’, enforcin’, my style is awesome.
I’m causin’ more Family Feuds than Richard Dawson.
And the survey said: “You’re dead.”
Fatal Flying Guillotine chops off your fuckin’ head!
I just need the junkies and the liars and the thieves,
I need the pimps, prostitutes and pushers out in the streets.
That’s where I’m seeking God, cause that’s where He found me.
I don’t see the world as you see it.
I see it as a game, and my aim is to complete it.
What you live for is what you die for:
To make a little name, grab some fame and the high score.
Spit fire from my hammer like I wasn’t God’s child…
And when it comes to gettin nookie, I’m not a rookie…
I got girls that make that chick Toni Braxton look like Whoopi.
If I should fall asleep and death takes me away,
Don’t be surprised son, I wasn’t put here to stay.
In L.A. we buy houses, fuck apartments and lofts.
It’s kinda hard bein humble in the belly of the struggle,
Doin things that probably get you in trouble.
Dallas Mavericks want me as a bald-headed 5’ 8" guard with a 95" vertical.
Vince Carter respect my legs, ask Shawn Kemp.
Damn right I like the life I live,
Cause I went from negative to positive.
They smile in my face, behind my back they talk trash,
Mad and stuff because they don’t have cash.
You would rather have a Lexus, or justice?
A dream, or some substance?
A Beamer, a necklace, or freedom?
What’s up with this nonsense?
Wack ass jams with a built-in dance?
Rappers snap they fingers in a b-boy stance?
Radio play it all day, but real rap no chance?
Real rap don’t mean “take ‘em to school.”
I like bitches, cars and money, but I use my brains too.
If you for real then you know the deal,
I do or die, and I never ran, never will.
I leave scientists mentally scarred,
Triple Extra Large,
Wild like rock stars who smash guitars…
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.
Watch out for the medallion, my diamonds are reckless,
Feels like a midget is hangin from my necklace!
Your white tee, well to me, looks like a nightgown;
Make your mama proud, take that thing two sizes down.
My radio, believe me, I like it loud,
I’m the man with a box that can rock the crowd.
Walkin’ down the street, to the hardcore beat
While my JVC vibrates the concrete.
My life is like a song and I think I know the words,
And as I start to sing along the whole verse becomes a blur.
So I freestyle improv, make mistakes and evolve,
The obstacles repeat, cause naturally it revolves.
I heard when I talk, they all listen,
They hang on every word from the God, they all Christians.
I baptize ‘em with lines, this is y’all christenin’
Bless with the gift of my presence, this y’all’s Christmas.
I committed crimes of passion and my soul was suspected,
But it was thrown out of court because of course the Creator and I connected.
He told me, “Fear not for thou art protected. Your life is being requested,
And you are being tested, so make every attempt you can to expect the unexpected.”
If imitation is the greatest form of flattery,
Punk, don’t flatter me.
The Chinamen built the railroad, the Indians saved the Pilgrim,
And in return, the Pilgrim killed ‘em.
They call it it Thanksgiving, I call your holiday ‘hell-day.’
I come strong, I make knowledge born,
I flip the script and rock on
From P.M. past to fucking Dawn.
Layin niggas so flat, homies think you plankin’,
Only realize you dead when the corpse start stankin’.
Leave MC’s blind with amnesia;
Chop ‘em into salad, and my name ain’t Caesar.
You know the evil that men do, hell is where the men go.
We snatched him by his hands and feet and threw him out the window:
“Up, up, and away cause I don’t play, clown,
Buck, buck, buck, take that with you on the way down.”
I’m hoping you got springs and wings on your shoes,
But you lose, because I got the Ill Street Blues.
Doin forever shit: like pissin out the window on turnpikes,
Robbin niggaz for leathers, high swipin on dirt bikes.
In this lifetime, you got two things:
Bad and good, and ain’t nothin’ in between.
Don’t get offended, there’s no need for insecurity,
Age is but a number, it’s all about maturity.
See, seventy percent of the world’s underwater,
Seventy percent of your body’s underwater,
Seventy percent of what we live is out of range,
We rearrange this order, but niggaz think it’s strange.
Well I’ma freakit like this because I be doper than the dopest,
I focus on the mic and if you like it you can quote this.
Used to have a crush on Dawn from En Vogue.
It’s not like honey dip would wanna get with me,
But just in case I own more condoms than TLC.
You got to have style, and learn to be original.
This one’s for you, and I truly hope you hear me,
Through all your travels, I’m wishing you a peaceful journey.
It’s important to practice good hygiene,
At least if you wanna run with my team.
I am to hip-hop what Obama is to politics
The employees of the year, yeah we back to work.
I took time off, while other rappers got jerked.
