Murs - M-3 (Anger) lyrics

rate me


Okay since you paid for the meal, I'm gonna throw in my tip

But normally, I wouldn't do this


Never mind what your normally do, someone shoulda warned you

But then again, my style - too sick to predict

Kinda like that "Emergency Broadcast" shit, before the earthquake hit

But this is a test to see how long you'll shut the fuck up and listen

To the statement of my mission (you sit quiet)

Now that I got your attention

There's no-thing I think I would never say

From one of the dopest crews out the Bay

So what's that I heard you say?

Fool when I call your name you'll know it

Always been a man before a poet

So I never been in the habit of backstabbin

Only got 3 problems, beadies alcohol and mic grabbin

So if I smile in your face

Know that if I wanted it I would take yo' place

Once again the G the way the only way I know how

Only got one question after I rock your set

Who the fuck wanna flow now?!

[Chorus: Murs]

No matter how you try you ain't fuckin with me

By just breathin air I diss sucker MC's

And no matter how you try you ain't fuckin with us

Cause if you about fresh shit, then you stuck with us

No matter how you try you ain't fuckin with me

By just breathin air I diss sucker MC's

And no matter what you make, you ain't fuckin with us

Cause when you eliminate the fake, then you stuck with us


Oh you heard you could rap, but from what I hear

You would get served and slapped by any one of my crew members

Do you remember who wrote the book, on this underground way of livin?

We do more than you do with a whole day after midnight

Deliver dope shit for the love like midwifes

Doin what the fuck I want now to avoid that crisis at mid-life

Mid-City life creates a doper MC; when yo' record's in the crate

Next to my shit, you still ain't comin close to me

Better than you'll ever hope to be, shoppin yo' demo at 33

Instead of bein the man you supposed to be

Musta lost yo' mind tryin to find that easy money

And the college MC's? Oh these niggaz funny!

When you was studyin for yo' SAT, I was out bein a fresh MC

So why you tryin to run up on me?

Don't you know my crew smack toys

What the fuck it look like, me a hip-hop scholar

Up against a frat boy?



Bein the creator of a style all mine, I stall online rappers out

It's not they fault, they don't know what the culture's all about

This don't go out to everybody in the chatroom

Just those who assume that hip-hop, is an indoor sport

Got them new chains but scared to walk on the court (bitch)

While you were goin over hip-hop's new, line of clothes

I was combinin flows to clothesline hoes from across the ring

Like Dr. Death Steve Williams I'm tellin you, I kill 'em

And if my style is too raw to be felt

Then fuck it that's just the hand that I'm dealt

And I'm a deal with it, I said throw down with me boy

And on my tombstone engrave a microphone cause that's what I live by

Give my a hundred and ten percent, fuck a lockerroom speech

More than half the time, I'm already been amped

Ready to go out and face the temp, stare him right in his eyes

As he prepares to get murderlyzed

When I take the title don't look surprised

That nigga Murs on wax, immortalized

BITCH, you ain't FUCKIN with me!

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