Get Ya Weight Up - Apache

To all you fictional fake fags, frauds and fronts

I’m here to get puffed and rip shit and I’m all out of Philly blunts

Step up, step up — who’s starvin for static?

That’s like playin Russian Roulette with an automatic

Full grown, the last kid I did tried to hold his own

Rushed his crib, smacked his bitch, held him hostage in his own home

Fucked up, goodbye — somebody sing his ass a lullaby

Tried for juice, but got a noose for a necktie

Black man, black ass and black heart

Use force, cut up his corpse, dispose of his body parts

To me fun is pullin a gun in a fair fight

I’m the hype type, my mic is my peace pipe

My tomahawk talks, you sink like a battleship

Fuck a bow and arrow, pass me the Tec and 2 clips

Gimme some comp to stomp, fuck the glory

Come witness more smoke and more bodies than a crematory

You defeat me, beat me, on the contrary

I’ll knock out your fronts and sell 'em to the tooth fairy

Ask the last kid who said I couldn’t rock

I scalped his ass, and left his head in his mailbox

I speak clear so you can hear, that’s what I’m all about

So cut that niggidy niggidy naggedy bullshit out

Monkey see, monkey do, time to face the facts

One or two, only a few get props for that

Give the next man a face or neck brace to start

Took his girl, took his manhood and took his heart

Give him time to rhyme, then dump him in a ditch

Takin gangsters and makin 'em my «Gangsta Bitch»

Where’s the conflict, trouble’s comin and won’t fail

You think your weight’s up?

Then step on a skill scale

You’re too thin to win before I begin to blast

Your dialogue sucks, your lyrics are light in the ass

Me and mines remain fine and in mint condition

They get rougher, yours suffer from malnutrition

Stop sleepin on the job slob, I advise

Dream about kickin my ass, wake up and apologize

I’m a contender, while you plot and plan

Got speed and a lead like the Gingerbread Man

Bring your best buck, watch 'em get stuck up

Look for safety, I’m rigged to blow the fuck up

Fuck it who’s got dice;

cee-lo I got the bankhead the bank’s a bullet

Lose with the Tec to your teeth, hold the trigger then pull it

With the gift I come swift with a straight arch

Competition I leave 'em stiffer than spray starch

Got a high strung tongue, can you catch it or match it

Those who tried died by the hatchet

I play to win friend, your game I aim for the chin

Rap is a hobby, I kick ASS for a livin

So what you get radio play and your record sold

And you were told your shit just might go gold

When I step up and strike, be prepared to duck

I’m one deep, I don’t sleep and don’t give a fuck

I’m a hood from the hood, better yet instead

It might be safer for you if you covered your head

If you win then I’ll begin to bruise ya

Fuck that, I’m goin out cause I’m a sore loser

When I roll up to stick-up I got’cha

Gimme mine, pay me or pay the doctor

Don’t fuck with a man 'til you’re full grown

Cause I’d hate to dislocate your ass bone