Microphone

Say, Either you dope or you ain't dope. Kurupt is the man, I found fiend. Either you dope or you ain't dope. Kurupt! Microphone fiend. Microphone fiend. Gangsta microphone fiend. Oh, gangsta microphone fiend. Oh, oh! I was a fiend, before I became a teen. I'm melting microphones instead of cones of ice Cream. Hood-orientated when gangsta rap was Originated. Nickels, semis, and Ks, Complicated. 'Cause I grab the K and dump and Spray at y'all. The homies take it, and say That I'm too small. A fool, 'cause I don't Get upset. I start the thunder and make the Set swarm, then I jet. Back to the Ave, Crenshaw Avenue. Eight rap, then grab another K to blast. One after the other one, then I dump another One. We get to chippin' skatin' and chip another One. I get a cravin' like a fiend for Nicotine. Sit back and dip my cigarette, know what I mean? My phrases, calicos and gauges, Verbally amazin'. Spread it, it's contagious. Start up 'cause it's sort of an addiction. Magnetized, when the clips ship. Vocals of cavalry the hood that you're stuck in. The homies gon' bang on, volcanoes eruptin'. Rhymes overflowin', gradually growin'. Everything is written in a code so it can Coincide. My thoughts to God, .38's, MACs, and 9s. The invincible poetry poltergeist. Young Adolf, nice, Kurupt Gotti, Vincent Price. P-R-E C-I-S-E. The hood operatin', operatin' correctly. Now spin your revolvers, we oughta have it. Twins revolvin', semis and mattocks. It's Gotti, the sniper's own, black terrorist. I fiend for a knife and chrome, black heroin. Soon as the gauge kick, chip. Send me a gauge and a nickel-three equip. And I'll put you in a mood, or is It a state of unawareness? Gladiators shift the equator. A menace to a microphone, a lethal weapon. An assassinator, if the people ain't steppin'. You see a part of me that you never Seen. When I'm fiendin' for a 9 and chrome, I'm a 9 and chrome fiend. After 12, I'm worse than a gremlin. A couple nickels and I start tremblin'. Spillin' some tints and some dents and homicides. But this ain't the cinema of Tales From the Darkside. By any means necessary, This is what has to be done. Make way, the hood gon' come. Song cut material. Jersey Imperial. It's a must that I bust any 9 you Hand to me. It's inherited, it runs in the Family. I dropped the straw and broke the camel's Back. If that didn't break it, I'm cockin' an 11 MAC. Now I wanna have to let off, The homies let off. Who you tryna Tech off? Ladies and gentlemen, You're about to see. A pastime hobby that's 'bout to be. Take this to the maximum, in a Maxima. Hype as a hypochondriac and I lack on dubs. Hell of an Oakland quote, indica smoke. Locs, folks, and ropes, raw coke spread and soaked. Provoke more than an actor, you should've backed up. For those that's smacked up need to be more Than clapped up. Any entertainer, I got a chamber changer. One-on-one, torture magnum ranger. So close your eyes and hold your breath. And I'ma hit you spittin' fours and thirds. Before you go, you'll remember you seen. The fiend of the microphone, I'm the 9 chrome Fiend. Say, either you dope or you ain't dope. Kurupt is the man, I found the fiend. Either you dope or you Ain't dope. Kurupt! Microphone fiend. Gangsta microphone fiend. Go from the top, give me one, just one More. Gangsta microphone fiend. Oh, Kurupt.