Gang Starr - Blowin' up the SpotLyrics

Ah so now ya got me pissed off blast off lift off Time for me to twist off a vocal fist off Into your domepiece Homepeace I heard your chick wants to bone me I get wild like rugby respected like Bugsy Don't even ask me cause I'm livin' lovely Born to succeed foes bleed true indeed The oral combat will romp that your one of my seeds When I first busted on the scene Nigga you knew I had more than a gangsta lean I mean my lean is gangsta though so check it I'll stick an MC for his spot and sign in blood on his wack record Boo-ya-ka, to your face as I ruin ya Clown ya, dumbfound ya, while I'm screwin' the Fuck out cha girl as she steps into my world I'm not the tallest, but that ass I'll polish And if the hooker runs her mouth she gets cut off But then you'll sweat her, cause like my leather you're butter soft Your style stinks kid, ya garbage And if you keep talkin' shit, I'ma make ya pay homage Cause the G to the you to the are-you, came too far to Let you slide through, rhymes will scar you And who the fuck are you anyway? I catch more wreck in a minute than if you rhyme for ten days Throw the cash in the pot You betta dash nigga, 'cause I'm blowin' up the spot "I'm bout to blow the fuck up" No ex-capin' the explosion, those who are dozin', I close in Set the thermostat at sub-zero, they're frozen Extreme temperatures from my mic, stuns amateurs Unable to conquer the Gang, I ain't mad at cha Peace to Jeru, the Big Shug and the Group Home Keepin' it real, no playin' niggaz or chrome I'm way past the kid shit, brothers already did shit You want some props? Yo dog, here's a biscuit I'm a smooth nigga and my groove's bigga, move nigga And we don't care who's wit cha, got the picture? And you don't want to hear the burners go pop Gang Starr motherfucker, what, blowin' up the spot "I'm bout to blow the fuck up" I go from one format then switch to the next Reflex sets the pitch vocals rip through projects Crazy shouts are heard all around Cause the GangStarr sound carries more weight per pound I got some brand new Timbs, so emcees sing new hymns You betta repent, come correct, represent Or get stomped, smacked and slapped, cap peeled back I got you open, and now you cling to my sac Get off, hands off, stay off, you're way off You rookie motherfuckers it's the finals not the playoffs I'll break you up into particles, to small pieces Because your brain is miniscule You little fool, come learn the tools of the trade I made the rules so go to school and get played Just when you're thinkin' that your jam is hot Up steps the niggaz who be blowin' up the spot