The Man

[Superb] Fuck y'all niggas talkin about? My flow, right? Everytime I did this shit, you niggas got hype yo Superb's the next nigga, respect for those before me In these last days, I'm bringin rap glory In the streets they hear it, some will remember the lyrics In my demise, some will remember me in spirit And I ain't tryin to die like 'Pac and BIG And lose my talent to a cultured thug life I'm a man, seein mindstate of balance Takes years, fam', like fuck y'all plans See, we feel like stars, shine like stars Fuck stars, fuck y'all, we examples Samples of the hood, thugs from the hood Young bloods in the hood like, they love the hood They love the young bitches, nickel bags and guns In the benches, we see it all off the benches I learned how to sew seein niggas stitches And the pain, don't even ask who 'bout the pain They killed main, I won't maintain By the bus stop, two blocks from the dust spots Somebody busted shots, they said Sam got got Damn, he wildin in the back cab rap That eat swine, fucked his arms and hold nines That's Far Rock for you, my block for you Y'all bitches niggas only live in jail cuz ock know you When I come home, watch how shots blow you Through the upholstery, even through your mom's groceries Little Sam died three months later He got set up in the elevator, his cape was regulated His name faded, he has a son by this bitch he dated Shorty waited for two dead case kid He'd get them niggas kids if he couldn't get them Then one day out of the blue, BAM! He heard shit like last names and cars rarin The Larger Than Life niggas was about to leave here [Sampled singing] [Masta Killa] My people stressed out, we seventy dead and starvin Son couldn't walk through my yard past curfew I rose from an era of terror where it was legal To tote guns, get red and bust a nigga head And if pussyhole for dead, left pussyhole for dead What the fuck was his song? Never heard of this till niggas started snitchin I'm still stitchin motherfuckers up I deal with high sciences, supreme refinements Till any wicked germ is destoryed and burned We the Gods without question Prove what I'm manifestin, all show ways and actions Hopeful that, lick your cannon I'm ill when I shoot to peal like Ed O'Bannon In my head is a thought, perm cocked, off safety Shots fired, follow blood trails to the stairwell Faced down, he lay sound, rounds to his crown Shorty hip flock was midtown, big fly holdin him down With the dead-arm, siren sounds Bullets chip brick, precincts followed by the ambulance Respond to the bomb threat I picked up his MC tray through the masters I'm sharper than my carpentry blade The culture carven into mountains The faces of my eight classmates That stomp through the streets of states for Protect Ya Neck tapes Wu-Tang T-shirts and bandanas We snatch mics and snuff niggas who jack the rappin [Sampled singing]