Make Em Pay

[Intro] Yeah, you know them They accuse the righteous people of crimes and claim that we're wicked Stirring up controversy, making us fight each other All the fake rappers make it worse, they gotta pay [Verse 1: 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 Stepping up, y'all put your weapons up, I make heads fly You're artificial like saccharin You're crazy fake, it's more than skills you be lacking in Concepts you bite, cause your identity ain't tight Trying to be something you're not, like pulling a knife at a gunfight I'm trooping on night air like flight number 106 And getting all up in your fucking 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, lighting 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 Stepping to me improperly, you just may catch the weaponry My specialty is tearing tracks out the frame You know my fucking name, I rule all game I'm universal on all planes, what's your claim? [Verse 2: Guru] Yo, I be your highness, in slickness, you chumps bear witness Tremendous trooper, verbal nigga with the fitness Drop you for your spot with the blazer then I blast you Slice precise like Benihana's 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 Kicking 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 fucking barber So what you made some dough, you best keep on scrambling All your vanity, is instantly crushed, when I start handling Demanding that you pay, for your weak rhyme display Coast to coast, I break the fakes everyday [Verse 3: Krumb Snatcha] I see myself as the black rap messiah Colossal spreading 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 Something 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 talking bout how much his mac spit But this year, Gang Starr got changes being made No wack shit being played no fake macks getting paid No Versace mc's, with a mouth full of mo' Soundin' like a ho spittin' at a fashion show flow I bombshell that pastel Chanel rap through a maxwell Ever since young Krumb, was taught to rap well Going deep, process of thought, when my eyes closes Awaken with turban, robe and sandals like Moses Travelling high sands and eastern lands for the answers Ignorance is spreading through the streets like it was cancer Too many drinking not thinking, when behind that trigger A .38 escalate the murder rate, for us niggas It's like, microphone roulette cause nowadays MCs is getting wet Over someone else's fake gangsta rep