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    First and foremost, some rappers are sweet like fructose
    When I cock back these lyrics, y'all punks best be ghost
    I be the seven twenty-one, eighteen twenty-one
    The illest one, I'm almost doper than anyone
    Straight out the late nights of Bed-Stuy
    Steppin up, y'all put your weapons up, I make heads fly
    You're artificial like saccarhin
    You're crazy fake, it's more than skills you be lackin in
    Concepts you bite, cause your identity ain't tight
    Tryin to be somethin you're not, like pullin a knife at a gunfight
    I'm troopin on night air like flight number 106
    and gettin all up in your fuckin mix
    You get me upset, and I got you uptight
    cause my committee's in your city tonight, AIGHT?
    We got seventeen million of us plus, two million Indians
    That makes 19 mil, lightin shit up like Wild Bill
    I be the, supreme father plus the ill kid with drama
    My karma, creates the teflon to pierce your body armor
    And make sure you check the shit before you walk to me, or talk to me
    Steppin to me improperly, you just may catch the weaponry
    My specialty is tearin tracks out the frame
    You know my fuckin name, I rule all game
    I'm universal on all planes, what's your claim?

    Yo, I be your highness, in slickness, you chumps bear witness
    Tremendous tropper, verbal nigga witht he fitness
    Drop you for your spot with the blazer then I blast ya
    Slice precise like ?fenny hanas? when I come to bring the dramas
    Styles so swift, that you can't peep the God
    as your lyrics get buried, six feet deep in my backyard
    I laugh hard, while your mental I run through mazes
    Dark stages of terror to shatter your dressing room mirror
    Your whole error gets crushed, your whole show gets bumrushed
    Too many dumb punks, want to enter this rap scene
    Kickin Willie Bobo, but need to be slapped clean
    into oblivion, the true champion always rises
    I bring surprises to the chief plus their advisers
    Size me up, and you will find nothing's larger
    Catch more wreck on your dome, than a deranged fuckin barber
    So what you made some dough, you best keep on scramblin
    All your vanity, is instantly crushed, when I start handlin
    Demandin that you pay, for your weak rhyme display
    Coast to coast, I break the fakes everyday

    [Krumb Snatcha]
    I see myself as the black Rap Messiah
    Colossal spreadin my gospel through electrical wires
    Spit fire through speech, so I can reach each and every
    Tom Dick and Jerry slippin like petroleum jelly
    Too busy in the limelight, can't rhyme tight
    I got divine right to bring y'all to light
    Somethin ain't right, to be an MC, you gotta thug
    Or to thug you gotta be an MC, this shit is bugged
    Show love but few; deal with crew and crew only
    And think universal like Sony
    Phony pounds and fake hugs is usually avoided
    Give a fuck like Pizza Hut I got to stay Noyd-ed
    Cause that same nigga you trust, could be that same cat
    behind that gat that bust, quiet ya, with the silencer
    Keep it hush, ashes to dust, then dust to ashes
    Nowadays it's who pull out the fastest, imagine this
    rap shit without this gat shit, or the phony cat
    in black talkin bout how much his Mac spit
    But this year, GangStarr got changes bein made
    No wack shit bein played no fake macks gettin paid
    No Versace MC's, with a mouth full of Mo'
    Soundin like a hoe spittin that old-fashioned show flow
    I bombshell that pastel Chanel rap through a Maxwell
    Ever since young Krumb, was taught to rap well
    Goin deep, process of thought, when my eyes closes
    Awaken with interpretive robe and sandals like Moses
    Travellin high sands and Eastern lands for the answers
    Ignorance is spreadin through the streets like it was cancer
    Too many drinkin not thinkin, when behind that trigger
    A 38 escalate the murder rate, for us niggaz
    it's like, microphone roulette cause nowadays MC's is gettin wet

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