Going for the Throat

Lyrics

[Intro] Hey yo, Craig (What up, man?) Yo, this sucker tried to diss you in a magazine (It's like that, word?) Yo, I think you should get him (I'll take care of it) [Verse 1] Yo, I got beef, and this beef is on my mind Since it's on my mind, let me put it in a rhyme It seems a brother that I went way back with Is coming out the woodwork, talking shit At first it didn't mean all that 'Cause he was washed up and strung-out on crack Freebase, his life was a waste to the rap world Nobody cared about him or his wack girl So, yo, I took it in stride And continued with the rest of my life Until recently he showed some form of indecency When in a magazine he tried to release on me But now it's the last straw I'm gonna wreck him, and anything he stands for Point blank – Shan, you suck And I'm about to nail your coffin shut Juice Crew Law? That shit is out the window Just like the basepipe, where all of your ends go Yeah, exactly what I thought Just like Magic when he was a little short To buy crack from my man on the block Eyes wide open, and your mouth just dropped Ah-ah – don't say a word Just a lot of glance superb MC Craig G to kick all the facts About why your records are wack BDP wrecked you quite a long time ago But allow me to deliver the final blow Diss me and get away easy? Yo, I'm gonna hand you a squeegee Go wash windows, that should be your career I could give a fuck about what you 'pioneered' Straight up, that don't mean shit So won't you take your vine and swing the fuck off a cliff Yeah, I mean business Don't ever in your life try to diss this 'Cause, punk, I'll rip you to shreds And mail your record company your head I know it sounds a little graphic I heard your album's double plastic And your single went copper Congratulations, but I think you need a doctor 'Cause after you take this whippin' There's no tellin' what the fuck you be shippin' And now that you've been smoked Relax, punk, before I go for your throat Yo, that was kinda funky (Word?) Don't you have a second verse? (Yeah, I got a second Let me tell you how I get him on this one here) [Verse 2] Authentic – that's the way I present it Sometimes it's funky, and sometimes it's demented Rappers runnin' up to me, handin' me feedback Slow down, Shan, you just entered a speed trap With your neck snapped, don't accept that So want you call me, give the devil his check back And take your soul, but your title? Shove it, yo And bring your wack-ass rhymes to the Muppet Show See, I don't give a fuck how much swing you got And how high your album climbs on the charts You're still a dead rapper from Christmas past So won't you pucker up and kiss this ass 'Cause I'm in here, even on leap year I make up for the others with this fly-ass beat here And you – you'll make a drastic drop You couldn't stop me if you were a traffic cop Now this reminds me of my radio days When I'd take the mic and leave rappers amazed No matter how large, whether Gold or Platinum I take my microphone and point the shit right at them And after I was finished, they'd say, "Craig G scored" And that's the way I usually would rock New York So, yo, punk – if you don't like those quotes Come on find me, and watch me go for your throat [Outro] (Yo man, you definitely got him on that, yo) He can't fuck with this in a million years, uknowmsayin? Yo, fake-ass Puma-wearin'... dirty Puma suit... gutter-ass