Collectin' Props

(feat. Killa Kaine, Mr. Moe, Pete Powers)

[Guru]

Yeah, I'ma start collectin props, connectin plots

Networkin like a conference cuz the nonsense it yet to stop

Police shake me down, which gangsta movie you like? This is real trife

Real life -- wanna get ya shot in the game, and earn some real stripes

Just like Feds magazine you couldn't imagine the battered scene

You get shot up by little niggaz wearin gabberdeans(?)

I'm tired of lookin like Malcolm, in the window though

Unpack the strap, Baldhead Slick smokin indo yo

I'm not gonna speak on the personal, street business

As long as Moe and King keep witness, it's Sunzu Part 2

Bring your guards too, never knew the depth of my crew

Although I'm God-body, Baldhead Slick used to be a nobody

Niggaz didn't know that my crew's thick

[Killa Kaine]

Aiyyo we killa hungry, I turn food back guerilla monkey

Once I do that, nobody ain't healin and comfy

I make niggaz come out the rugbies

Talk shit, I'll kill ya company

Your for that jake, take my head I'll fake my death

They wanna kill me cuz they hate my strength

That's why they vote when I raise the M

and let go, hollow fights from Expo

Hear my tec blow, my tec blow electro

Thou which is set pose, these streets is Death Row

One through ya neckbone, jerk back ya headphone

Nigga pop to that, you talk heat, hope you got the gat

Who can amount to this? Sit back and pour a ounce of Cris'

Bump a ounce to this, watch the bouncer get

testamentic, wild out, we gon' press ya district

Sign out, or pull ya nines out and test ya biscuits

Ain't no talkin once ya head is twisted (son)

Ain't no talkin once ya head is twisted

[Chorus x2: Guru]

I'ma start collectin props, connectin plots

Networkin like a conference, cuz the nonsense it yet to stop

Jakes shake me down, haters wanna take me down

Break it down {*gunshot*} blaow, all they heard was the sound

[Mr. Moe]

Fuck rappin bout hamburgers

I'ma rap about murders, flippin work, and thirty burners

The only thing cookin on the stove, is crack in the pot

We flip pies like Jack In The Box

My .44 be blastin the cops, I mastered the block

My cousin's a NARC, said sleep in the day, come out when it's dark

Niggaz'll test ya heart - Black Rhinos rip a vest apart

Anybody doubt, fuck it we knockin 'em out

Trinidad style with a body-shot, loud like when a Rotti' bark

Cold John Gotti heart

Can't be broke, ain't no joke, yes I smoke, wooden 'dro

Five oh-oh, summer '99, I seen the snow

Fuck the DEA and CEO - it's sour dough nigga, Mr. Moe nigga...

[Guru] Collectin props, collectin props

[Pete Powers]

I throw punk niggaz through cement walls, and break sheetrock

Compound sound before the beat drop -- beat break

I shake shit like Japanese earthquakes

Thunderstorm, sweaty palms, grab firearms

Blisters on my soles, runnin on hot coals from po-po

Ya faced-off, get scraped off my windshield, I been healed

Rapped up in my turban, green colored Suburban

Bleach fuck a detergent...

I whip ass and kick ass and clear paths with blowtorches

Burn down fortresses, and crack foreheads like porcelain

I got a habit for the beef

Put ya soul on a hole of the earth where it's mad deep

Don't let that coal burn ya back

My name is Pete Power, burn ya gat

The devil made me mad, tell him to send me a kite

and I'ma send one back with autographs from murder fans...

[Chorus fading out]