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    [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."
    (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*

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