
Date of issue: 16.06.2014
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Babygrande
Song language: English
Allied Meta-Forces |
Yo, the shottie rip, perforate the skin on top of your ribs |
Red stuff come out his ribs like a Hollywood script |
Bitch-niggas on the floor screaming for mommy and shit |
Cardiologists hook up the heart monitors quick |
Thermometer temperature dips below 76 |
That’s what you get for telling niggas that you better than Bis |
Not possible, if I can’t pronounce it, it ain’t rhymable |
The audible probability probably ain’t probable |
Supreme rap, G Rap, underground without a rule |
Shopper proof, holding hip-hop for hostage, 'bout to shoot |
Helicopters stabilized at low altitudes |
Talking to the negotiator, laying out the rules |
In a tight compromise salute, road-block with troops |
Under orders not to shoot, but they break ya vertebrae with boots |
Ten o’clock news flash, Bis and G Rap |
All punch bullets are lookin for them niggas in black |
Lean back in the avocado El Dorado, passing the bottle |
Speakin Japanese like Nomi Masho |
She got a banging body, cold sushi with warm saki |
If I’m rappin sloppy, she got me |
Welcome to my world, danger and hazards |
Gang of bastards, banging they ratchets |
King and the Jacker, slanging in traffic |
Claimin they cabbage, obtain half, they aiming for stackage |
Get brains from the addict, keep blinging with karats |
Cops aiming the 'matics, then let ya dame have it, flames to the attic |
The stains on ya fabric, the paint in the graphic |
Canibus and G Rap banging a classic |
And if that beef on the street hate you enough, blow out ya brain in ya casket |
Don’t you love this drug element? |
Where slugs crush ya melon and dome, chrome that’s known to break bones in an |
elephant |
Shotgun pellets and, gunsmoke, smell the scent |
Big bullets, wiggle ya guts like gelatin |
Cut through ya skeleton, knock out ya intelligence |
Ride, stand and bite the dust |
Jake wanna be like a Russian cuffed on that Riker bus |
We raised in the slums with haze in our lungs |
Raisin the guns, knowin; |
My day’ll come, razors under the tongue |
Clips in the steel, bricks in the wheels |
Chips in the field of fortune |
Dead men walking with hits on the grills |
Late night at the spot, posted with goons, dope and balloons |
Coke and the doom, scheme I’ll leave you open with wounds nigga |
Witness G Rap put it back in perspective |
Beat up shit with a dash of the peppers |
Get blast for ya necklace, leave ya brains on the dash in ya Lexus |
We up in the club, dash for the exit |
Make ya spread 'em out, show you what this lead about |
Take it from an old thug, whoever clean cold blood, believe they bled it out |
Crave for the war, pop out rages with fours |
Hit the jackpot, blazin the raw, gettin bands in the pores |
Bitches and whores with dick in their jaws |
The frame drank sick of Valor, straight bandit spot |
Open up shop, turn the block to Planet Rock |
Shit with no chop, slept with the Glock with the hammer cocked |
Servin the fiends, hop in the Suburban and lean |
Look at that don nigga swervin in Queens, player |
Ballin a lot, brawling for props, calling the shots |
Hit the curb, birds all on the flock |
Jockin, like «who that there covered in all of them rocks» |
It’s royalty bitch, fall on the cock, recognize one |
Giacanna G Rap, that live one, pay homage |
Get it fucked up, I spray comments, nigga what?! |
(Nigga what, it’s the Curriculum!) |
Yo, e’rything is e’rything my nigga |
I ain’t bitter, but if I gave you the finger it’d be behind the trigger |
Faggot-ass nigga living in a gated community |
Up in radio, telling them what you gon' do to me |
I live in the 'burbs |
Clean my Winchester every other weekend with the same dirty Hanes shirt |
It takes two to tango, three to jump rope |
Four to bury the body, plus look out for po' |
Yo I guard everything within the limits of my post |
My orders is to smoke you if you get too close |
The whole globe scared of my flow, spirit world scared of my soul |
Nowadays it’s like I’m scared to be known |
The methods of my motivation is completely subjective |
My perception is completely parallel to perspective |
Rhyming is the reason I spit in faces |
Habituation of my flamboyance without rational reservation |
Whiskey, X-Ray, yankee, Zulu, unusual |
Word-ologically my syllable position is beautiful |
Only respect niggas if the feeling is mutual |
G Rap snatch the jewels from you, I’ll throw 'em in the crucible |
Prolly throw you in there too, mix it up and make nigga-stew |
If you can’t admit I’m iller than you |
Baby you sparred with the shadows, Canibus and G Rap bro |
Motherfucker professionallin with the pro’s |
Know it’s, dough over hoes, bankrolls, Rovers and clothes |
And shots blow all them cowards and foes |
Giacanna proud with the pros, foul mode |
We quick reachers, spear with the fearless til you drip liters |
Flip divas, the big secret, strip to they tits and beaver |
Sip Cris' and sniff coke of the peeter |
Yeah we ball big baby, look off the meter |
You should see us, it’s movie star status |
Scar lackers lost cabbage, rip the Pablo Escobar fabrics |
Froze the road we chose, not a pretty route, Diddied out |
Grimey and grittied out, stack dough, jiggy out |
Dime bitches behavin like ya sex slave skizzied out |
Some nigga dizzy south, til he’s out, busy mouth |
Swerve to the curb, hit the bird split the kitties out |
We kidnap for trap — blackmail for a gang a mill |
Spot banger himself, fishscale rocks under the fingernails |
The blood trail lead to a corpse |
Treat my appetite for greed with a torch |
For keys to a Porsche, to breeze in the loft |
Roll up my hand sheets with the force |
We squeeze off, no need for remorse, playa |
Forty wild goons, with forty Calhouns |
You die forty foul dooms for forty coward moves |
Bless sparkle, and spark until my shorty style rules |
Giancanna dead? |
Widespread, I’ll be a 40 mile tune nigga |
What, what nigga? |
The noble laureate |
Coming at y’all niggas. |
Uh. |
40-pound style nigga… |
Name | Year |
---|---|
CAPTN Cold Crush | 2010 |
Hey Mister Mister | 2012 |
Desperados ft. AZ, Nature | 1996 |
The City ft. Kool G Rap, The Godfathers | 2020 |
Chase ft. Canibus, Kool Keith, MF DOOM | 2021 |
Fantastic 4 ft. Cam'Ron, Big Pun, Noreaga | 1997 |
State vs. Kirk Jones ft. Rah Digga, Redman, Canibus | 1999 |
Air Strike (Pop Killer) | 2010 |
Ghetto Knows | 2012 |
Second Round K.O. | 1997 |
Animal Rap ft. Kool G Rap | 2006 |
Tibetan Black Magicians ft. Canibus | 2006 |
Hell ft. Canibus | 2019 |
You Already Know ft. Kool G Rap, Inspectah Deck, Suga Bang | 2009 |
Cingularity Point | 2010 |
Patriots | 1997 |
Queens ft. Kool G Rap, Nature, Royal Flush | 2016 |
4, 5, 6 | 2012 |
Whar ft. Ghostface Killah, Kool G Rap, Tash Mahogany | 2009 |
Assassination Day ft. MF DOOM, Kool G Rap | 2018 |