about to rip y'all with the raw shit y'all
with my hard core raw dog kurupt
'bout to blow this shit the fuck up
it's two-thousand b.c. 'bout to take it to
my mother fucking man ray on the track
it's two-thousand a.d. after disaster
fly's buzz around a million rappers cadavers
never been the type to talk
looking down the wide jaws of a white shark
'bout to rip off your arms like perforated paper
a hundred times more sharper than stainless steal razors
shock you with an electrically charged taser
'till you turn blue in the face
and die from asphyxiation
the stench of a thousand ounces
grab you by the throat and blow my second-hand weed smoke down it
don't give a fuck what month you dropping in
i'll be in the dungeon hollering
'fuck you and your cult following'
you cum-swallowing transsexual fag
running full-paged ads in the porno mags
with pictures of you with a dick in your mouth and a dick in your ass
my tongue moves like hindu belly-dancers performing tantra
i blur your vision like slow shuttled speeds on the camera
get up in that ass like colon cancer
organically enhanced with third millennium medical standards
my d.n.a. was tampered with
by genetic engineers with scholarship grants that stupid in stanford
too advanced for this shit
your style is one-quarter bull
make you nauseous 'till you vomit
like the backwards pharcyde video going forwards
as i drink the blood of a thousand emcees
i can tell by the taste of the pulp if they was hand-squeezed
you should be afraid of my fangs in your neck draining you
any mic me and kurupt touch
see? i'm as dangerous as they come
dangerous with or without a gun
i've been dangerous since day one
rhyme flows explode like pyros
stick to your ribs like chicken and thick gravy from roscoes
get your head flown if you dumb in the dome
or struck with some stones 'till you feel numb in the bones
you better keep your big mouth closed
'fore i stick the muzzle of the chrome in that hole under your nose
send a signal to my index
in the direction of my wrist bone to release your soul
if i was you i would have froze
but you chose the other route and got blown full of holes
write your name on your tombstone scribbled in blood
there anybody out there that never felt one rhyme that can-i-bus bust?
watch the g.o.a.t. with the ghost-writer get slaughtered by a tiger
seen him in the pun video holding up his lighter
smeared his career like doo-doo inside a diaper
i can catch aids without sticking it in
flip and dip like shrimps and scampi
switch language like a black kid raised by a spanish nanny
and we do it like that when we in the dungeon
past the motherfucking mic to kuruption