1994 Freestyle Hip Hop God/Genius Lyrics
Yo the... the mic is open Yo
For the Stretch Armstrong Shooow hosted by Bobbitoooooo
Yo how should I start this?
How should I begin
Grab the microphone and my rhyme to win
Wheel of Fortune
Check it out I'm not a rap clown
Get smacked down
By the f*cking 4-pound
In your dome
Hit you with the nick-plate chrome
Queensbridge that's my motherf*cking home
Off the top of the head yo I'm marked blunthead
Police... Police they want a nigga dead
But I'm not going out like that
Black I kick the actual facts
It's solar, cold as a polar bear
I swear words through... Will
But I'm a chill
Rhymes to kill
Niggas know the style
When I freak the profile
Aziactic child Yo
Grand Wiz you on the side of me
Get on the mic and bless the M.I.C.
Ayo It's the Wiz Kid
You know what I'm sayin
Ayo... But yo I'm a pass it off to my man 6-9
Kick it one time
Ayo 6-9 the true to life nigga
Yo my style is iller
Iller than Horrors Berry figure yo
Niggas don't f*ck with the 6-Niner
Shorty watch your mouth
I smack you back in your vagina
Here some reefa to crack sunrise tequila
Killed the margarita, heres a fifty get some more chiba
The Ghetto Trooper
So spark up the blue buddha
My thoughts stay nasty like an underground sewer
To be the man you got to beat the man
It ain't nothing stompin over here unbuckle up my timbalands
You want static
Let's have it
Niggas who flow like the Atlantic
Will sink like the Titanic
Since birth I was thinking too fast
My first peoples beat the doctor when he smacked me on my ass
I'm crazy like Sam
My skill so I'll, like a white...
Check it out now
One for the money
Two for pussy and foreign cars
Three for Alize niggaz deceased or behind bars
I rap divine Gods check the prognosis, is it real or showbiz?
My window faces shootouts, drug overdoses
Live amongst no roses, only the drama, for real
A nickel-plate is my fate, my medicine is the ganja
Here's my basis, my razor embraces, many faces
Your telephone blowin, black stitches or fat shoelaces
Peoples are petrol, dramatic automatic fo'-fo' I let blow
And back down po-po when I'm vexed so
My pen taps the paper then my brain's blank
I see dark streets, hustlin brothers who keep the same rank
Pumpin for somethin, some uprise, plus some fail
Judges hangin niggaz, uncorrect bails, for direct sales
My intellect prevails from a hangin cross with nails
I reinforce the frail, with lyrics that's real
Word to Christ, a disciple of streets, trifle on beats
But chill bless the microphone and say peace
Those who there, kick the microphone in your hand
Kick the flim-fam
Grab the microphone
And I'm a rock it up right for my man Jungle
Dwelling in the jungle
Where must we go
Where must we wonder
Deep out the skies
Comes the M.C. Nas
Not to surprise, but to civilize
All the dumb man
Wonderin around the streets
Listening to a nigga rapping on fly beats
I just kick the mad Philly style
Cause you know my style
I could run a word
Kick it to a herb
Make him turn into a rich man
Increase the plan
The master plan
Yo I'm buggin out
Cause the weed got me going, plus the Gin is stout
Grand Wizard Yo you my physical
Why don't you grab the microphone and make the song miserable
It's the G- the G- the G- the G- the Wiz
I know that I go jus go get biz
Runnin out with my man Nasty on the side of me
My man 6-9, you know we not hiding G
I am the man that break it down
Break it on down, cause I'm from the town... I got...
Queensbridge, in back of me
The tec and everything I'm coming strapped G.
It's like that...
Check it out uh, huh
Check it out ya'll
Money, and Murder, Money and Murder
The sick shit you heard coming from money, f*cking...
My swerve, the words are poetic...
I sound energetic, when I'm blunted or "Moet-ed"
My microphone's upsetted
Cause I sound crazzzy
Now, you know never lazzzy
Yo, I'm gonna get all the cash I can
Even if I gotta shoot a policeman
Walk in the church and snatch your f*cking...
Na I can't be flipping like that
Cause you niggas try to jock the style...
But I left that shit, to get new shit, to flow like the Nile
Now you can't catch up G...
Cause I got the new styles on the M.I.C.
I keep getting Newer...
Can't step to A...
Nigga from the Bridge
So you keep that shit and Immaflip the script Next Ye-ar
And my real name is Nas-ir...
Can't spell it, cause I say it too Cle-ar
The alphabet is not enough letters to use
Cause when it comes to mics, I bruise
I just go, with the magical mystic flow
Niggas don't know that's word to my man Bo
I get Illmatic with the style that's insane
Coming out a f*cking murderous brain
Grand Wizard, "Please take this mic from me"...
Before I bug out and wind up D.A.E.D.
I mean D.E.A.D.
I'm buggin out...