GangStarr - Make 'em Pay lyrics

First and foremost, some rappers are sweet like fructose When I co*k 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 sk**s 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 1-0-6, And gettin' all up in your f**in' mix You get me upset, and I got you uptight 'Cause my committee's in your city tonight, a'ight? We got seventeen million of us, plus two million Indians That makes nineteen mil, lightin' sh** 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 sh**, 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 f**in' name, I rule all game I'm universal, on all planes, what's your claim? Yo, I be your highness, in slickness, you chumps bear witness Tremendous tropper, verbal n***a, with the fitness Drop you for your spot with the blazer, then I blast ya Slice precise, like Benihanas, 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 f**in' 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 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 sh** 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 f** like Pizza Hut, I got to stay Noyd-ed 'Cause that same n***a 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 sh** without this gat sh**, or the phony cat In black, talkin' 'bout how much his Mac spit But this year, Gang Starr got changes bein' made No wack sh** bein' played, no fake macks gettin' paid No Versace MC's, with a mouth full of Mo' Soundin' like a ho, 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 thirty-eight escalate the murder rate, for us n***az It's like, microphone roulette, 'cause nowadays MC's is gettin' wet Over someone else's fake gangsta rep