Make `em Pay Lyrics

Make `em Pay lyrics

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 ?fenny hanas? 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