Chief Kamachi - Love 4 The Craft lyrics

rate me

Each word I spit sparklin' glow

Kamachi street shaman, remarkable flow

Rebellious, rowdy saints put a part in ya fro

Blood on the turntables, AK assaultin' the show

I'm from the 70's, gang war heavenly blow

The same block old pops sell beverely snow

Crush groove in my heart, the culture I know

I'm the same A capella

I'm underground my sounds in the ghettos overseas

Love a Rakim voice, Brand Nubians steez

Bring that 90's rap back, who want it with these?

The thriller, straight from Philla, Ali of emcees

JuJu Mob, scatter magic dust in the breeze

Catch the vapors, instantaenous death if you breathe

Broad Street the bodies in back roads in Belize

They want the prize, one look at my eyes then they freeze

I got 'Love 4 the Craft' for my spirit to be reputed

It's a reason why I do this and why I persue this

I got 'Love 4 the Craft' and if you don't true this

That's how we seperate the real from intruders

Yo it's Chief Kamachi, one of the wildest ock's

I go to vote leave a bomb in the ballot box

When I'm dead they think that the terror stops

But each word is like a seed from the rarest crops

Minds blossom and grow when you hear it rock

Bless you like the father you submit to in prayer

Granddaddy of that half street spiritual sphere

I know I'm nothin' like the way you had envisioned me there

When my light shine come thru like the beautiful air

When I write rhymes nothin' you can do to compare

Take it back like my Queen puttin' braids in my hair

On the motherland brother man this is the jam of the year

I'm on the throne holmes you tryna put ya hands on the chair

I got the fire to lead and a murderous glare

Give the world what they need before my grave site is clear

And I ascend to Angels with my family that care

Kamach Bolivian rock in the booth with the wake

I spit the block, all I know is the stoupe and the crate

I got seven questions for God - seven spooks at the gate

While seven kids can't even put their tooth in the cake

Mommy sacrifice for that little bit of loot that she scraped

Left the world before she heard my first group on the tape

The pain is in the music I make, so ruthless and great

Black roses around the evil of state

Candles burn in the windows what I reveal at the gates

It's the ghost of old Kunta, death drum on the waist

Warrrior paint on my face, spears thru ya ears

I don't know if you can hear dirt cover ya face

Trumpets blow, Undertakers dumpin' slow

Hell's crowded but Heaven got extra bunks I know

It's deadly, OD on the medley

Pump the flow, make the whole US drug consumption grow, yo