Hip-Hop Icons

Hey, yo, it’s DJ Kay Slay, the drama king
Ice-T, Kool G Rap
Hip-Hop Icons
Let’s go
It’s been a long time, niggas forgot
You push up on mine, niggas get shot
Master with the caliber, don’t respect your throne
Don’t worry 'bout me, the devil protects its own
This so often, I stare and gaze into a coffin
But I don’t cry, niggas must die
My bloodlust is unquenchable
My thirst for revenge you bitch niggas can’t comprehend
I might let you live a few years, feel yourself
Death is always near and then it gets dealt
This ain’t the pop that the kids bop to
This what the hard rocks cock Glocks to
I hate rap niggas, I love street cats
I serve wack niggas, please believe that
Iceberg bitch, motherfucker you heard
I been away for a minute so the lines got blurred
I ain’t impressed by your jewelry, that could get took
Don’t floss around me, nigga, you shook
All your dope talk, crack talk, trap talk bullshit
How could real niggas stomach your lies?
You never fuck with no live niggas I know
Only place you’re hard is in your motherfucking bio
I’ma go on 'cause I feel the mic starting to heat
Grip the wood on the wheel, lay back in your seat
I ain’t new to this shit, I could rap for weeks
Especially with these Kay Slay types of beats
Listen
It’s been a long time, niggas forgot
You push up on mine, niggas get shot
Master with the caliber, don’t respect your throne
Don’t worry 'bout me, the devil protects its own
KGR boy, Queens grime nigga
Turn your block into the scene of the crime niggas
A mean shine, nigga, the beam on the nine, nigga
Killers move in silence and violence of mines whisper
Corona the own, I rep it to the death boy
Soda bottle or nozzle to lower down the deck boy
Everyday generating another hood chronicle
Niggas come comical, I fix 'em with the llama too
The money in '85 was so astronomical
Chest, neck gripping with ice like a comma do
Yeah, nigga, this the auto bio
Fuck with the auto, die yo
Murder here, my nigga, universe caught a slug in the eye, yo
Pies seventeen five moving the bottles
Bottom of the pot rock pat 'em and dry those
Lay low from homicide with a side hoe, you know how it go
Get your gats out, hoods on, masks up
In my dark world fuck boys get touched
I’m much older and colder now
No beat, just release the hounds
I move the social elite from the concrete
It wasn’t easy, lotta blood got spilled
Shit got greasy, good men got killed
Somehow I kept my head down, kept moving
A lot had to be shown, it had to be proven
And I’m still alive today
So don’t test me in no type of way
You may catch me in the street rolling dolo
Or on the beach in some Ralph Lauren Polo
Or in the next booth over in the hottest club
Or at some hell of a spa getting my feet rubbed
(That nigga plays a cop) Broke nigga, don’t speak
Seventeen years, 200k a week
Nigga, you on the bus, while I’m whipping a fleet
If you can’t add money, you ain’t from the street