Lyrics Love 4 the Craft - Chief Kamachi

Love 4 the Craft

Each word I spit sparklin' glow
Kamachi street shaman, remarkable flow
Rebellious, rowdy saints put a part in ya fro
Blood on the turntables, AK assaultin' the show
I’m from the 70's, gang war heavenly blow
The same block old pops sell beverely snow
Krush Groove in my heart, the culture I know
I’m the same A capella ____ whereva I go
I’m underground my sounds in the ghettos overseas
Love a Rakim voice, Brand Nubians steez
Bring that 90's rap back, who want it wit these?
The thriller, straight from Philla, Ali of emcees
JuJu Mob, scatter magic dust in the breeze
Catch the vapors, instantaenous death if you breathe
Broad Street the bodies in back roads in Belize
They want the prize, one look at my eyes then they freeze
(Hook) 2x
I got 'Love 4 the Craft' for my spirit to be reputed
It’s a reason why I do this and why I persue this
I got 'Love 4 the Craft' and if you don’t true this
That’s how we seperate the real from intruders
Yo it’s Chief Kamachi, one of the wildest ock’s
I go to vote leave a bomb in the ballot box
When I’m dead they think that the terror stops
But each word is like a seed from the rarest crops
Minds blossom and grow when you hear it rock
Bless you like the father you submit to in prayer
Granddaddy of that half street spiritual sphere
I know I’m nothin' like the way you had envisioned me there
When my light shine come thru like the beautiful air
When I write rhymes nothin' you can do to compare
Take it back like my Queen puttin' braids in my hair
On the motherland brother man this is the jam of the year
I’m on the throne holmes you tryna put ya hands on the chair
I got the fire to lead and a murderous glare
Give the world what they need before my grave site is clear
And I ascend to Angels wit my family that care
(Hook) 2x
Kamach Bolivian rock in the booth wit the wake
I spit the block, all I know is the stoupe and the crate
I got seven questions for God — seven spooks at the gate
While seven kids can’t even put their tooth in the cake
Mommy sacrifice for that little bit of loot that she scraped
Left the world before she heard my first group on the tape
The pain is in the music I make, so ruthless and great
Black roses around the evil of state
Candles burn in the windows what I reveal at the gates
It’s the ghost of old Kunta, death drum on the waist
Warrior paint on my face, spears thru ya ears
I don’t know if you can hear dirt cover ya face
Trumpets blow, Undertakers dumpin' slow
Hell’s crowded but Heaven got extra bunks I know
It’s deadly, OD on the medley
Pump the flow, make the whole US drug consumption grow, yo
(Hook) 2x