KRUMB SNATCHA - Gangsta Disease lyrics

rate me

How many glocks can you cock on one record?

Videos of hoes naked, hip hop's been infected

Now lets correct it, before it's too late

To fix our mistake of lettin record labels infiltrate (for real)

Cause if there's money to make

Then there's an artist they create,

ignorate to hip hop, meanin he's fake

Now lets take the average emcee for example

They lacin with the same used bullshit samples

I watch and construct a rapper bout his conduct

And about, how many niggaz he done bucked

But ask the question, you carry gats and rock knifes?

But ask yourself, can you rock the motherfuckin mic?

All this gangsta advocatin is aggravatin

And aggitatin, it's time for us to stop confiscatin

With wack rapper with that emcees

Thats plagued by the gangsta disease

[Chorus: x2]

Now everybody wants to be a mobster

Big gold chain, ghetto fame, eatin lobster

Lexus keys, vacations over seas

Hip hop got infected by the gangstga disease

Wanna be drug incorporator, street life narrator

But nothin but a bullshit immitator

Exagerrator with the bust-shot chatter, that don't flatter

That mean you need to change your subject matter

You scatter like mice, when I read life

Into a microphone device, nothin nice

I'm livin once a year plus the annual

Don't need instructions for bustin percussions

I rock without the manual

Like a cannibal, watch Krumb eat

Up any self-proclaimed killer comin from the streets

Cause his speech don't move me

Thats like watchin one of them old John Wayne western movies

The Fugees said it loud and clear

"Wack emcees in the rear" cause hip hop is out here

[Chorus x2]

So what? You carry hot glocks and rocks

So what? That type of rap is number one on the charts

So what? Your video was on MTV

You still ain't an emcee to me

So whether you toke nines or bust rhymes to me it's no interest

While I distribute lyrics and pump the cracks on your Benz's

Part time rapper, part time gun clapper

But what you really are is just a full-time actor

Crumb snatchers, pullin niggaz cards

Cause if y'all was really hard, your ass'd be barred

It's kind of odd, your gettin pimped by your label

A and R's tellin you fables on why he don't pay you

So while you kick rhymes of doin crime and bustin nines

Your record company's robbin your stupid-ass blind

So now your fired, a job flippin burgers

Or back to the lab writin them fantasy murders

[Chorus x2]

Niggaz pleeeaaase!