Featuring The Lady Of Rage Kurupt The Kingpin]

"The real. *chattering and clapping in background* Remix" *echoes*

"More MCing and DJing... from your own mind ya know?"

"I I guess right now we should start the show..."

Verse one: Guru

Please baby we gettin G's you know the steez baby

Ain't no if's no and's no but's or no maybe's

The Bible drive you crazy almost break your neck

A game will take respect, remember Just To Get a Rep?

Sportin baggy pants macking, backing finance

Bold figure, older nigger, yo, watch me advance

Used to be a small cat, now I'm all that and more

Putting pressure on, catching rep from the dog, your insecure

Inject like them fucking doctors

Moving in silk, more milk than Louis Pasteur

Ask yourself, do you wanna mess with this?

The specialist, turn the page, I bring the rage when I spits

Then this neck gets what, I bring the crowd into a frenzy

I leave you sleeping with the fishes, see how these niggaz envy?

Authentic vocal tone transmitting like a Mobile phone

Welcome to my ghetto, my man, hope you can hold your own

I take your first name to the, last name curve

Against grimy, stimy, who you?, preventing the herd

I ain't seen you out here, and you ain't got no clout here

Your style don't come across, your lost about here

At 5' 8 and 3/4", I be the warrior, sargeant, Gang Starr

Rippin clubs and bars

Super star-studded, fine rings and flooded

On the low, counting dough in this rap life, I love it

You know my steez...

"You know my steez" *echoes* --> Method Man

"Let em know, do your thing, dog." "Keep it live."

*scratching*

(Lady of Rage: check, check, check it out y'all)

"Killer Bees, y'all" --> Method Man

Verse two: Lady of Rage

You best to back off, we back off ways since the baddest dog

Your the wack dog cause of your half-assed songs

I bring it you, keep it rough and rugged, Seven Lucky

Motherfuckers act like they hate it, but motherfucking love it

I'm the raw dame, in this war game, don't get your jaw chained

?, I ain't no joke and I ain't joking

You know my steez

When I stand and deliv-de-liv-deliver-er-ies

And tag MC's like "freeze"

And burn them like the 3rd-degrees

And wouldn't you agree, that the three of us put together

Make it more better to make more cheddar

Puffing high in ?Four Centers?

And ask Beretta, who got cheese?

On the spot, who's the doc, like that man, ugh, ?Martin Keys?

More keys, cause when it comes to me and The Guru

Like my man Charlie Brown said, the rest of y'all is doo-doo

The butcher, the baker, time to meet your Maker

Send you to your place, you ain't nothing but a faker

Your cheasy, but ?treesy?, next to me your measly

Believe me, I'll beat that ass so sick, I'll make ya queasy

Now easy, Premier scratch that shit like three

Three men and a lady, and, ugh, you know my steez...

"You know my steez" --> Method Man

"Let em know, do your thing, dog." "Keep it live."

*repeat 3X*

(Kurupt: Yo, yo, yo...)

"The mic..."

Verse three: Kurupt

The monotone, nigga melodic, microphone

Poetical Mag-milly from Philly, ill-ly syndrome

Clouds will form, whip thoughts to windstorm

And the young Gang Starr posse formin in full

Kick off, like a guage (guage) ?, stage

In a seek-and-destroy mission to burn and blaze

Vanish a few

K-U-R-U-P-T, R-A-G-E, and Guru

Lets simplify it, just don't try it

When I recite, ignite mics, my voice 'ill cause a riot

I talk it, I live it I don't give up, I give it

I bring it, bust it, don't sing it

Get in your vein melt mics and spit flames

Get in your brain and blow like propane

Yo Premier

(What?) Tell these niggaz this our year

Broke through like a breeze

Murder MC's with ease

You know my steez *echoes