Blowin' up the Spot

I'm 'bout to blow the fuck up

You betta dash nigga, 'cause I'm blowin' up the spot
I heard your chick wants to bone me
And if the hooker runs her mouth she gets cut off
To let you slide through, rhymes will scar you
I go from one format then switch to the next
Into your dome-piece, home-peace
Set the thermostat at sub-zero, they're frozen
I get, wild like rugby, respected like Bugsy

I'm 'bout to blow the fuck up
I mean my lean is gangsta though so check it
I catch more wreck in a minute than if you rhyme for ten days
I got you open and now you cling to my sac
You little fool, come learn the tools of the trade
'Cause the Gang Starr sound carries more weight per pound
And you don't wanna hear the burners go pop
'Cause the G to the U to the R-U, came too far
Crazy shouts are heard all around
Or get stomped, smacked and slapped, cap peeled back

Nigga, you knew I had more than a gangsta lean
Boo-ya-ka, to your face as I ruin ya
I made the rules so go to school and get played
You rookie motherfuckers it's the finals not the play-offs

I'm not the tallest, but that ass I'll polish
I got some brand new Timbs, so emcees sing new hymns
I'm 'bout to blow the fuck up
The oral combat will romp that, you're one of my seeds
Peace to Jeru, The Big Shug and The Group Home
Clown ya, dumbfound ya, while I'm screwin'

I'm way past the kid shit, brothers already did shit
Gang Starr motherfucker, what, blowin' up the spot

No escapin' the explosion, those who are dozin', I close in
Get off, hands off, stay off, you're way off
Just when you're thinkin' that your jam is hot

I'll break you up into particles, to small pieces
Keepin' it real, no playin' niggaz or chrome
Born to succeed, foes bleed, true indeed

I'm 'bout to blow the fuck up
And if you keep talkin' shit, I'ma make ya pay homage
I'll stick an MC for his spot and sign in blood on his wack record
Extreme temperatures from my mic, stuns amateurs
Don't even ask me, 'cause I'm livin' lovely
Because your brain is minuscule
You betta repent, come correct, represent

Throw the cash in the pot
Reflex sets the pitch vocals rip through projects
And we don't care who's wit cha, got the picture?
Your style stinks, kid, ya garbage
I'm 'bout to blow the fuck up
And who the fuck are you anyway?
Unable to conquer the gang, I ain't mad at cha
You want some props, yo dog, here's a biscuit
I'm 'bout to blow the fuck up
I'm a smooth nigga and my groove's bigga, move nigga
But then you'll sweat her, 'cause like my leather you're butter soft
When I first busted on the scene
The fuck out cha girl as she steps into my world