Текст песни DJ Muggs vs. GZA - General Principles

Текст:

[GZA] I must put in time to get mine, many hours to earn power Like the ashy hand, he should wear only the rope flower I can't be a broke nigga, better in showers Sellin' CD's on the corner of Sunset and Dower A small fry nigga in a baked potato world Sizzling in some beef full of grease like jheri curls Shout out to DJ's who kept it real Shook a few in the thou', but some never broke the seal Fuck them, I stick to college radios, mix shows Historic university, to freestyle sick flows Might give a lecture about your rap texture M.C. B-Boy, DJ, slash director The name was a bell that rang through the hall Popular is the tag in the bathroom stall, check it This language is so captivating When we lose a rap nigga, the news is devastating Whether to the prison or grave, you know this rap shit Is built from the strength of those to hunger the crave My Clan got rhymes for days, to be skilled, it pays Most of them can't escape the solar rays [beat instrumental w/ chess sample] [GZA] Name a crew that can stop the force that I strike with Let alone try to hold the pen that I write with You can even chop off my fingers I type with Those I hold a mic with, thinking I might quit They didn't know, that only makes me more determined Ich lebe fur hip hop, you can ask the Germans Some say I never got this for recognition So I, drop another, they shocked and still listen Plus I, ran into a well known musician He said this sample shit got too many cooks in the kitchen Now he's back to flipping love borns and cypher says To support his kids, much even hyper wiz A bad amigo, will stroke your ego You see the flash in the dash, weed blast with Buick-Regal The same brother you was throwing your key to Brought the 7 niggaz in the building to see you You know these god damn streets is so gritty With sour milk from titties, that'll spoil the city The hood cornerbacks, strong attack is a blitz But we don't lie down for shit, not even direct hits [Chorus: GZA] From graffiti in New York, on the walls and trains DJ's in California, to the shores of Maine B-Boys on the floor, who be doing they thang To MC's, behind ropes, who had titles to claim [GZA] My teams about shoot outs, the fans shout with loud mouths The clock ran out, the ref throw the sign, it's over time The rambling, visiting teams scheme The championship ring fiending, they must be dreaming These rap players and slayers got alot of endorsements Make them hire law enforcements Plus, I just turned down tracks, can't remember the Producer with the beats is wack, sound similar It gotta be exciting, striking, lightning Bring the best out, to dawn through Harlem Writing, light stroke from my pen might choke The tape lent, got a little air, then half the spins M.C.'s be stuck with fear fascination The nature in the scale of events, shook the station I stick up the track, armed only with the pen Terrorize it vocally with the force of wind

;