Gangsta rappers can't fight, so they rap about guns.
Dutch in my ear, Olde E in my palm, I Freddy Krueger your face, Michael Myers your moms. You botherin mine? That's when I'm sparkin the nine.
I don't like thugs, I don't like nerds, I don't like myself and I hate bein' disturbed.
Wake up: all of that 'crack in the street' talk? It's made up, like 'Jack and the Beanstalk.'
Niggas' rap albums sound like love letters, Pen in my hand, like: damn, fam, I could do much better.
Oh, you a E head, oh, you a weed head I got a big gun, bigger than Maxi Priest dread
Allegedly Jesus went through the town and spread the word and the word was God. You know what I mean? And Sean Price... Jesus Price... is going through the hood spreading the word and the word is good hip-hop. That's where it started. There ain't no pictures in there with nails on a cross, I ain't walking no water, I ain't turning water to wine, none of that crazy s**t.
I'm a rapper but I don't f**k with that hip-hop s**t. You understand? I'm home, I take care of my family. I f**k with other kinds of n****s, I don't f**k with no hip-hop dudes, man. That rap s**t is fake... these rap dudes is fake.
The hip-hop that we grew up on is dead to a certain degree. I'm trying to keep it alive though, it's alive in the underground, but don't nobody know about it.
Heltah Skeltah-meets-Portishead would be like the Brand New Heavies Hip Hop album, something like that. That's dope, word.
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