Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Step Up, artist - Kurupt. Date of issue: 26.10.2009
Song language: English
Step Up |
| Daz: |
| Aw yeah! |
| Right about now it’s time to get busy |
| Huh, straight out the box, nonstop |
| Kurupt the Kingpin, Xzibit, Crooked I |
| (Wait a minute, um) |
| Crooked I: |
| This is the art of, manslaughter |
| When I’m rockin' I’m more shockin' than droppin' a boom box in bath water |
| You entered the wrong scuffle |
| You catchin' a chrome buckle |
| I uppercut niggas hard enough to break my own knuckles |
| Deliver the sick verbals |
| My shotty spit a round, before you hit the ground |
| Your body spin around, in six circles |
| Diminishin' infamous menaces |
| I’m waitin' to get dicced, if not, I’m a start finishin' innocents |
| Freezin g’s in your legion |
| Freakin' ancient techniques when I’m speakin' phoenician |
| It’s all about Crooked |
| These bitches shout Crooked |
| I’ll make you say the West Coast ain’t shit without Crooked |
| I own a vicious label, niggas’ll get disabled |
| When I’m spittin' rhymes written on project kitchen tables |
| I load this 4−5 and let slugs dive at ya |
| Now that’s for Crooked I, the scrap happy, mic snatcha |
| Daz: |
| Motherfuccers can you dig that, huh? |
| Can you fucc with this? |
| Let’s get Kurupt the Kingpin to fucc y’all niggas up |
| Y’all don’t wanna see none of this west coast mc shit |
| Yeah, how you like me now motherfucker!?! |
| Kurupt: |
| Terror starts, in the midst of your heart, starts |
| The storm, my vocals float like arts |
| In the mystic state of mind, when I create a rhyme |
| My microphone massacres every year the same time |
| With audio amputations, vocal thoughts of a loud talker |
| Up against the microphone night stalker |
| With a tendency of bashing mcs, like ten of me |
| As you can see I continue mashin' mcs |
| Caboom, the room gets cleared as my views get clearer |
| Extra-terrestrial microphone terror |
| In effect, get infected |
| Tell me what the fucc you expected |
| These venemous injections |
| I leave whole sections, and sections full of injections |
| From these poisenous melodies and selections |
| I select the methods of slow anguish |
| I mangle shit with my language |
| Tell me, have you ever seen one elope |
| With the microphone |
| In a scandal like abilities to make mcs explode |
| Baboom, alone in my own zone |
| So don’t compare me to none |
| Not one’s nearly |
| Severe, cuz I severely, impare mcs |
| Near me, oppose and fear me, I got plots and theories |
| Sincerely, I could have the spot locked |
| Niggas get stoned for touching microphones |
| With no knowledge on how to rock |
| Daz: |
| Yeah, back in effect, it don’t stop |
| Turn your speakers up, dj Battlecat on the table |
| We fuckin' it up like this and like that, yeah |
| Got my homeboy Xzibit in the motherfuccin' house |
| Alkaholiks! |
| Xzibit: |
| When I was enlisted |
| I came to the table double fisted |
| Sadistic, heavy artillery, for all my enemies |
| Bust shots up in the sky screamin' obsenities |
| Make niggas sport cackies and chucks from hear to Italy |
| It’ll be, a cold day in Hell when you see Xzibit fail |
| Act like a bitch on bail, tuck tail, and run |
| See we do it how it can’t be done |
| I’m the rough cut, plus how the west was won |
| Or direct descendant of the gatling gun |
| Don’t test me son, you fucc around and catch you one |
| That ain’t a threat, that’s a promise I can definitely keep |
| You can’t compete wit' 25 niggas wit' heat in the street |
| Ready to repeat, round after after round at you |
| All hell break lose when the whole Pound come through |
| I found that you and yours, can never fucc wit' mine |
| I own shit but gimme some more like Busta Rhymes |
| Cross the line, now you gotta pay the piper |
| I’m The Alkaholik sniper, that be keepin' the crowds hyper |
| It’s ashes to ashes and dust to dust |
| Can’t stop till me and my niggas is platinum plus |
| My Dogg Kurupt |
| Daz: |
| Yeah, no shit |
| Yeah, y’all can’t fucc wit' that |
| That’s what I’m talkin' about |
| West coast, we been doin' this shit for years |
| Ain’t nothin' happenin' wit' that |
| Battlecat |
| (Don't step up) |
| Right, right |
| (Don't step up, unles you wanna get hurt) |
| Huh, huh, huh |
| (Get get get get hurt) |
| Whatcha say |
| Motherfuccas that be hangin' in the battle |
| (Get hurt, get get get get hurt) |
| That’s what I’m talkin' about |
| Daz Dillinger |
| (Don't step up, unless you wanna get hurt) |
| Break it down, break it down |
| Huh |
| (mixed with Battlecat’s scratching) |
| Motherfuccas can’t fade this shit |