| Hey, yo, it’s DJ Kay Slay, the drama king
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| Ice-T, Kool G Rap
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| Hip-Hop Icons
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| Let’s go
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| It’s been a long time, niggas forgot
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| You push up on mine, niggas get shot
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| Master with the caliber, don’t respect your throne
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| Don’t worry 'bout me, the devil protects its own
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| This so often, I stare and gaze into a coffin
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| But I don’t cry, niggas must die
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| My bloodlust is unquenchable
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| My thirst for revenge you bitch niggas can’t comprehend
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| I might let you live a few years, feel yourself
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| Death is always near and then it gets dealt
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| This ain’t the pop that the kids bop to
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| This what the hard rocks cock Glocks to
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| I hate rap niggas, I love street cats
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| I serve wack niggas, please believe that
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| Iceberg bitch, motherfucker you heard
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| I been away for a minute so the lines got blurred
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| I ain’t impressed by your jewelry, that could get took
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| Don’t floss around me, nigga, you shook
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| All your dope talk, crack talk, trap talk bullshit
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| How could real niggas stomach your lies?
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| You never fuck with no live niggas I know
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| Only place you’re hard is in your motherfucking bio
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| I’ma go on 'cause I feel the mic starting to heat
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| Grip the wood on the wheel, lay back in your seat
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| I ain’t new to this shit, I could rap for weeks
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| Especially with these Kay Slay types of beats
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| Listen
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| It’s been a long time, niggas forgot
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| You push up on mine, niggas get shot
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| Master with the caliber, don’t respect your throne
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| Don’t worry 'bout me, the devil protects its own
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| KGR boy, Queens grime nigga
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| Turn your block into the scene of the crime niggas
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| A mean shine, nigga, the beam on the nine, nigga
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| Killers move in silence and violence of mines whisper
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| Corona the own, I rep it to the death boy
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| Soda bottle or nozzle to lower down the deck boy
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| Everyday generating another hood chronicle
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| Niggas come comical, I fix 'em with the llama too
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| The money in '85 was so astronomical
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| Chest, neck gripping with ice like a comma do
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| Yeah, nigga, this the auto bio
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| Fuck with the auto, die yo
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| Murder here, my nigga, universe caught a slug in the eye, yo
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| Pies seventeen five moving the bottles
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| Bottom of the pot rock pat 'em and dry those
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| Lay low from homicide with a side hoe, you know how it go
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| Get your gats out, hoods on, masks up
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| In my dark world fuck boys get touched
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| I’m much older and colder now
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| No beat, just release the hounds
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| I move the social elite from the concrete
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| It wasn’t easy, lotta blood got spilled
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| Shit got greasy, good men got killed
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| Somehow I kept my head down, kept moving
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| A lot had to be shown, it had to be proven
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| And I’m still alive today
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| So don’t test me in no type of way
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| You may catch me in the street rolling dolo
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| Or on the beach in some Ralph Lauren Polo
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| Or in the next booth over in the hottest club
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| Or at some hell of a spa getting my feet rubbed
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| (That nigga plays a cop) Broke nigga, don’t speak
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| Seventeen years, 200k a week
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| Nigga, you on the bus, while I’m whipping a fleet
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| If you can’t add money, you ain’t from the street |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Hip-Hop Icons , by - Dj Kay Slay. Song from the album The Big Brother, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп