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
Heltah Skeltah-meets-Portishead would be like the Brand New Heavies Hip Hop album, something like that. That's dope, word.
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.
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