A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z #

GANG STARR lyrics : "Blowin' Up The Spot"

[Guru]
Ah so now ya got me pissed off, blast off lift off
Time for me to twist off a vocal fist off

into your domepiece, Homepeace, I heard your chick wants to bone me
I get, wild like rugby, respected like Bugsy
Don't even ask me, cause I'm livin lovely

Born to succeed, foes bleed, true indeed
The oral combat will romp that, your one of my seeds
when I first, busted on the scene

^!$$%, you knew I had more than a gangsta lean
I mean my lean is gangsta though so check it
I'll stick an MC for his spot and sign in blood on his wack record

Boo-ya-ka, to your face as I ruin ya
Clown ya, dumbfound ya, while I'm screwin the
$#&@ out cha girl as she steps into my world

I'm not the tallest, but that $$# I'll polish
And if the hooker runs her mouth she gets cut off
But then you'll sweat her, cause like my leather you're butter soft

Your style stinks kid, ya garbage
And if you keep talkin %#@!, I'ma make ya pay homage
Cause the G to the U to the R-U, came too far to

let you slide through, rhymes will scar you
And who the $#&@ are you anyway?
I catch more wreck in a minute than if you rhyme for ten days

Throw the cash in the pot
You betta dash ^!$$%, cause I'm blowin up the spot


"I'm bout to blow the $#&@ up"
[Premier scratches]


[Guru]
No ex-capin the explosion, those who are dozin, I close in
Set the thermostat at sub-zero, they're frozen

Extreme temperatures from my mic, stuns amateurs
Unable to conquer the Gang, I ain't mad at cha
Peace to Jeru, the Big Shug and the Group Home

Keepin it real, no playin ^!$$%z or chrome
I'm way past the kid %#@!, brothers already did %#@!
You want some props? Yo dog, here's a biscuit

I'm a smooth ^!$$% and my groove's bigga, move ^!$$%
And we don't care who's wit cha, got the picture?
And you don't wanna hear the burners go pop

Gang Starr mother$#&@er, what, blowin up the spot

"I'm bout to blow the $#&@ up"

[Premier scratches]

[Guru]

I go from one format then switch to the next
Reflex sets the pitch vocals rip through projects
Crazy shouts are heard all around

Cause the GangStarr sound carries more weight per pound
I got some brand new Timbs, so emcees sing new hymns
You betta repent, come correct, represent

or get stomped, smacked and slapped, cap peeled back
I got you open, and now you cling to my sac
Get off, hands off, stay off, you're way off

You rookie mother$#&@ers it's the finals not the playoffs
I'll break you up into particles, to small pieces
Because your brain is miniscule

You little fool, come learn the tools of the trade
I made the rules so go to school and get played
Just when you're thinkin that your jam is hot

Up steps the ^!$$%z who be blowin up the spot

Submit Corrections