Day One - D.I.T.C

You puny protozoa, you're so minute you didn't know the
Gang has been watchin' but instead of just squashin' you
I'm scoopin' you up out of the muck you wallow in
Like a chief chemist, other scientists are followin'
Plannin' to examine you on a Petri dish
Sticking you and prickin' you just a teenie bit
I'm clever with science, but never relyin'
On false words from cowards who forever be tryin'
Insisting they come off, I let 'em get some off
Then come back with drum tracks their ears could get numb off
Blockbustin', like makin' love I'll never stop thrustin'
Into your system, so just listen
I'm like a neurosurgeon, operatin' with a purer version
I write prescriptions of words that fit in
The dope gets prescribed as I kick it live
'Cause it's more than a style, it's conceptual genius
My effect on the scene is to project that I mean this
You deadbeat, wait until you see my next feat
I get respect for the rep when I speak
Check the technique

I'm rushing you like a defensive end as I recommend
That you comprehend, I could stomp you in
A battle, contest, or war, what will occur
Will be the forfeiture of your immature
Insecure for sure, meek, weak visions of grandeur
To rudely awaken you, I then'll be breakin' you
Taxin' without askin', extractin’ a snake in you
Makin' you succumb to the drums of Gang Starr
By far we are truly gifted ones, son
But if you were to speculate or estimate us losin'
You'll be dyin', tryin' to face the fate of your delusions
'Cause miscalculation is all you're statin'
So I'm chumpin', puntin' punks just like footballs
'Cause I'm gonna put y'all back in the mess hall
To clean up the slop, and stop all the bullcrap
Your rap's crazy wack, so don't try to pull that
You're lackin' the vernacular, I'm slappin' ya and cappin' ya
And closin' your jaw, 'cause you can't mess with Gang Starr
The Guru and Premier always dope with the blessed beats
Dance your ass off, hobbes, check the technique

"Bon voyage", "Sayonara", "Arrivederci"
Your ass gets busted, doodoo mustard, you tried to work me
You erk me, because you copy and falsify
And I don't care how many step up, 'cause you all could try
To wish and fish for a style, here's a fishing rod
These rhymes are hittin' hard, constantly I'm gettin' large
Inevitably, I readily kick a spree
Of lyrics so deep, so don't sleep, but just peep me
Puttin' methods on records and spinning for each millisecond
33 RPMs displays the art of men
And as my rhymin' builds you see my time it's chill...
And then I look upon weak ones
I'm teachin' each one so they become redone
Essays are relayed to twist you up like French braids
Or tighter like corn braids, 'cause I got a strong rage
Force like police raids to never be delayed
I once was the least paid but I made the grade
'Cause this ain't a slave sale and I ain't the same stale
Rapper, no, I'm not a phony microphonist with no class or
No type of real appeal or real talent
And it makes me violent, man
To see all of these peewee league MC wannabes
Making G's 'cause some dumb companies
Have lots of money but no idea of what is wack and what is dope
So check out what the Guru wrote
'Cause I will prevail, give you tales as I unveil
Have enough brain cells so I can stay paid well
Now I'm in the driver's seat, and rockin' the liver beats
Bouncin' and boomin' and blastin' you to the next seat
Sheek and unique with lots of kick like a cleat
Check the technique

Gang Starr | Check The Technique (1990) Remix

#FlashbackFriday Big Daddy Kane and 2Pac - Wherever U Are

LL Cool J Feat. Raekwon & Murda Mook - I'm Nice (Dirty)

"Another Memorial of Makvelli and Big Poppa..."

We Run NY - Big L Ft. Big Pun & Biggie

Thug Life, Volume I is the only studio album by the American hip-hop group Thug Life. The album was released on September 26, 1994, by Interscope Records and Out da Gutta Records and distributed by Atlantic Records. The group, started by American rapper 2Pac, comprised 2Pac, his stepbrother Mopreme Shakur, and Stretch, who was heavily involved in 2Pac's previous two albums, Big Syke, The Rated R, and Macadoshis.

The album features guest appearances by Y.N.V. and Nate Dogg and production by Thug Music, comprising 2Pac and Stretch, Stretch himself, Professor Jay, Johnny "J", Warren G, and Easy Mo Bee. Since 1998, the album has been reissued by Amaru Entertainment. The album debuted at number 42 on the Billboard 200 and was certified gold by Recording Industry Association of America (RIAA).


1. Bury Me a G
2. Don't Get It Twisted
3. Shit Don't Stop
4. Pour Out a Little Liquor
5. Stay True
6. How Long Will They Mourn Me?
7. Under Pressure
8. Street Fame
9. Cradle To the Grave
10. Str8 Ballin'

Thuglife Volume I

cover art by @rosebudpainting on twitter

lyrics:

i feel ancient
esoteric
always been around just hidden

melancholic i can’t help it that’s my temperament
split the difference to appeal to ascensionists
i never sensed they meant it when they said we close to limit
but it’s better to simply let em sit with that decision
it’s a different kind of rot but still a rot just the same
so my school of thought conflicting but i seem to relate
to that relinquishing of power different goal but the same
six feet felt fast when we shut off the brain

i feel the black bile rise up
bubbling
troubling
feel that black bile pile up
stumbling
mumbling

bout how suffering conducive to facilitating art
in place of balance is reaction to the pulls of the heart
I don’t talk much any word spoke not enough
to match thoughts felt rather be stuck in a rut
but i’m tired of the cynicism hits of the nostalgia
reliance on remember when’s to get a little lift
addicted to the disconnect attachment to the past
like it’s tangible and if i had it be good again
it’s a paralyzing train of thought ambitions never sorted
pain in place of senses early onset rigor mortis
creeping up my skin to size me up it’s taken over
while i dream a scene of peace i never had and now i want

it’s an affliction suffered wholly alone
i feel it’s righteous
to take it not complain to another soul i’m enlightened
by isolation sentence given out with no witnesses
a picture perfect martyr to die alone is exciting
price of life is measured by the holder of the gift
a given left replace appreciation for it is a cynic
entitled to the cryogenic stasis it’s a justification
to be complacent sitting still but so anxious i
feel im ancient ive existed before
in many forms walk the earth maybe born from the dirt
or no origin what once was is now will continue to be
my soul contorts to what i want it to be
a cruel trick from the universe manifesting memory
distorted by what’s missing in the present so carefully
tread on false ground breathe intoxicating atmospheres
to poison mind body and soul and still

i feel mechanical wires take control
split tendons rip tissue shoving to pull
muscle out muscle in chips and conductors
bent synthetic neuron receptors
disrupt the order i was born in
flawed in flesh
opted in invade skin to reset
depressive tendencies
excess of empathy
infected all activity to stem from the brain
it’s pain to feel nothing it’s pain to feel something
nothing all at once in chaos i feel numb
to modify body in remedy
neglect nature
autonomy enemy
protect from danger
protested thought evoked by what’s deeper
lesions bleed grief i choke on choice either
voice the still stagnant stasis rise out of it
or steep and rot poise in prose but no action
poke and prod act in habits outlasted
noise is drowned out by pretentious static
pretense is if the abstract is captured
i’m out of it ditch affliction relax

i feel the black bile rise up
stock pile fear released through tear ducts
twice a year max what’s repressed will build up
breach the dam walls
leech off raw thoughts
if lost will lose the spark
l opted in to pain refuse to leave the dark
i choose to keep it tucked and under lock
like if it’s gone im gone was all for nothing
all the suffering part of art and living
integral like breathing in
i centered pain in making sure if limits hit
it’d be documented
like in some way preserving it makes it worth it
days are worse when staying indoors
whisper words in mantras reborn
pacing circles imprint on wood floors
porcelain soul im worthless and no force
could convince me different
pinch the skin and rip ive given all that there is there is to give
i’ve exhausted all my options no heart is meant to live like this
trapped in the walls
laying down is the first step to suffocate
i’m lonely and tired so got wires involved
but when you let wires replace and take shape
they still rust from the blood that remains

Day One - D.I.T.C

PsychoFreakshow