You're Late

[Kool Keith] Yeah, what's up with all you stupid motherfuckers out there Giving me that jive vibe and that jam jam, huh Don't come back with grass between your ass Cause I'm out here to last and move on forward past That's right, I gets deep up in that rectum and I checks them I got a problem, niggas is wack and they cold front Suburban areas, born and raised with no blunt Never had a gun to run, pump in a shootout Always went to church with mom and wore a suit out Who doubt, can it be hard faking these gods Yo Don, the kid down the block, he's writing your style Kicking your style, flaunting your style, jocking your style Did you see him at the Apollo and Following, swallowing sperm and Then throw up, blow up, then pick a ho up I never need to suck a dick for a deal I never need a car to pull a fly bitch I leave you standing like an S1-W Cold and freezing with your asshole hangin' Coughing, sneezing, begging, pleasing MC's smell like fish, that's a reason Oh you cut your hair bald? Hey yeah yeah yeah A lot of you made ya bills with wack skills Now you're selling your asshole dreams on Hollywood Hills Like a shark would bite, suck my deals with gills Cause you're no frills, taking feminine pills reel to reel My cock you feel, fuck that shit Your girl is wet as a seal You can't front man, act like a stunt man Fool all the girls, cause your lover is one man I know the girls and girls that lick girls But it's hard to breathe with your bullshit gheri curls Don't try to step to the X with that ill shit I'm not P.M. Dawn, crazy man with real shit Don't try to play me cause you gotta do shows, hoes Wipe that shit out your nose [Percee-P] In '88 it was all about an ill flow Lyrcial goodies, not a hoodie and a steel toe Talking bout you wrecking parties, stretching hotties Catching bodies, then let me see you step to Gotti I stunned you with skills, megatons of it Fuck the guns and shit, I'll beat anyone you get I cut you off like a sharp machete blade Swear to God, the only card you be pulling is Medicaid Joke to me, broke MC with a gold hit Wrecking, checking say better rhymes on my own shit I got a deal corruption and come up with But niggas like you just suck dick Like cattle, punk rappers I rounds up Yo chief, I turns your fucking beef into ground chuck You're pulling bitches? Nope, not on my block Nigga, the only hoes you can get is from my Glock Boom boom boom boom [Kool Keith] Yo Don, punch the fuck in, you're late [Godfather Don] Body bag 'em, I sting 'em with lyrical Don be hangin up Niggas that figure we're the jiggers with fake triggers Never underestimate, of the best will take And the rest of the state of MC's make them bless the greatest Of all top minds, align refine To an exaggerated potency of a Glock nine I rock mine with top rhymes in alotta time To weaker brothers, and others who debate how I got mine I rock on beat off beat, toss meat Where's that skill, punk? You lost me Rehearse first curse cause we heard church worse And facilitate rehabilitate its message and purposes Blood spatter, I'm mad as a mad hatter Rappers stagger badder rappers at a distance for instance Rappers get deals after kicking nil I'm checking skill lacks finesse and thrill on my Texas bill First blood on my verse drug so leave nubs for hands My Tims land like Van Damme to Sam Man that's packing dust, the dust with a lust to bust Because of us you want to get back into lyrcial thrust But the mic you hold is overshown Or should I spit out of my lung on my tounge I brought a Trojan Now I'm a disperse the verse and peace to Percee And Keith the Earth decrease when I drop a piece