Collectin` Props

[Guru]<br>Yeah, I`ma start collectin props, connectin plots<br>Networkin like a conference cuz the nonsense it yet to stop<br><br>Police shake me down, which gangsta movie you like? This is real trife<br>Real life -- wanna get ya shot in the game, and earn some real stripes<br>Just like Feds magazine you couldn`t imagine the battered scene<br>You get shot up by little niggaz wearin gabberdeans(?)<br>I`m tired of lookin like Malcolm, in the window though<br>Unpack the strap, Baldhead Slick smokin indo yo<br>I`m not gonna speak on the personal, street business<br>As long as Moe and King keep witness, it`s Sunzu Part 2<br>Bring your guards too, never knew the depth of my crew<br>Although I`m God-body, Baldhead Slick used to be a nobody<br>Niggaz didn`t know that my crew`s thick<br><br>[Killa Kaine]<br>Aiyyo we killa hungry, I turn food back guerilla monkey<br>Once I do that, nobody ain`t healin and comfy<br>I make niggaz come out the rugbies<br>Talk shit, I`ll kill ya company<br>Your for that jake, take my head I`ll fake my death<br>They wanna kill me cuz they hate my strength<br>That`s why they vote when I raise the M<br>and let go, hollow fights from Expo<br>Hear my tec blow, my tec blow electro<br>Thou which is set pose, these streets is Death Row<br>One through ya neckbone, jerk back ya headphone<br>Nigga pop to that, you talk heat, hope you got the gat<br>Who can amount to this? Sit back and pour a ounce of Cris`<br>Bump a ounce to this, watch the bouncer get<br>testamentic, wild out, we gon` press ya district<br>Sign out, or pull ya nines out and test ya biscuits<br>Ain`t no talkin once ya head is twisted (son)<br>Ain`t no talkin once ya head is twisted<br><br>[Chorus: Guru] - 2X<br>I`ma start collectin props, connectin plots<br>Networkin like a conference, cuz the nonsense it yet to stop<br>Jakes shake me down, haters wanna take me down<br>Break it down {*gunshot*} blaow, all they heard was the sound<br><br>[Mr. Moe]<br>Fuck rappin bout hamburgers<br>I`ma rap about murders, flippin work, and thirty burners<br>The only thing cookin on the stove, is crack in the pot<br>We flip pies like Jack In The Box<br>My .44 be blastin the cops, I mastered the block<br>My cousin`s a NARC, said sleep in the day, come out when it`s dark<br>Niggaz`ll test ya heart - Black Rhinos rip a vest apart<br>Anybody doubt, fuck it we knockin `em out<br>Trinidad style with a body-shot, loud like when a Rotti` bark<br>Cold John Gotti heart<br>Can`t be broke, ain`t no joke, yes I smoke, wooden `dro<br>Five oh-oh, summer `99, I seen the snow<br>Fuck the DEA and CEO - it`s sour dough nigga, Mr. Moe nigga...<br><br>[Guru] Collectin props, collectin props<br><br>[Pete Powers]<br>I throw punk niggaz through cement walls, and break sheetrock<br>Compound sound before the beat drop -- beat break<br>I shake shit like Japanese earthquakes<br>Thunderstorm, sweaty palms, grab firearms<br>Blisters on my soles, runnin on hot coals from po-po<br>Ya faced-off, get scraped off my windshield, I been healed<br>Rapped up in my turban, green colored Suburban<br>Bleach fuck a detergent...<br>I whip ass and kick ass and clear paths with blowtorches<br>Burn down fortresses, and crack foreheads like porcelain<br>I got a habit for the beef<br>Put ya soul on a hole of the earth where it`s mad deep<br>Don`t let that coal burn ya back<br>My name is Pete Power, burn ya gat<br>The devil made me mad, tell him to send me a kite<br>and I`ma send one back with autographs from murder fans...<br><br>[Chorus fading out]