3 to the Dome

Lyrics

[Verse 1: Big Daddy Kane] Uh-huh, you in the perils of the lyrical heroes That rule just like the pharaohs Clockin' De Niro's, got it covered just like sombreros Seek shelter, here comes the warpath Anyone who's tryin' to reign, I'll change the whole forecast If I still haven't heard of he learned, it's murder he earned To serve and return his body with third-degree burns You're purely pathetic, I won't let it And once I set it, the after-party's in the paramedics Vultures, come back when you get older Talkin' like you grown, you cats is small soldiers Enough of them as the God muscle in, it's puzzlin' You couldn't carry weight if you was hustlin' Style ain't even decent, dem not gonna squeeze none Please, dunn, give me one reason What I, say in a verse will be slayin' you worse As I wet 'em up just for the sake of obeyin' my thirst Anytime, anywhere, without any fair I'll do it with any hair, what the deal? Ain't he there? Wha-wha-what-what I do will be escrucially brutally Usually, leavin' 'em lookin' stupidly, ain't nothin' new to me What I spit attract felons, crack melons Leave the chickenhead's back swellin' Game tight with the way I'm livin' I bag birds and I stuff 'em like Thanksgiving My bad self get more love than tennis from New York to Venice Black as a Guinness, here to represent, it's the lyrical menace To win The Apprentice, if your heart shows stealth You better watch yo' self before I stop yo' health 'Cause any props here, baby, you ain't gettin' You better recognize, the true and livin' You played yourself fast, put two quarters in your ass What I meant, arcade's done went up to fifty cent [Verse 2: Chino XL] That lyric tarantula, Chino about to make this example of With one verse, shittin' on a whole label roster sampler My first name: Chino, my last name: Went There Leavin' rappers curled up and dyed like Immature's hair With lyrical warfare, when I spray shit My style like AIDS, half of y'all got it, just none of y'all is sayin' shit I hate and spit at Devils that want to posses Chi Jesus came in the vocal booth, like "Nigga, you the next me" So test me, battle and you will become a dead man And there's a lot of fake Chino's like Craig Mack's a fake Redman But I'm above the surface of this rap circus Writin' more incredible verses on accident than you can on purpose You a worthless waste of flesh, like fat asses on a nun I'm God's bastard son that blasts and thinks bloodbaths are fun I hate you with a passion, make white chicks faint like I'm Hanson Historically known for bringin' down the house like I'm Samson My damn tongue bursts, in the the first verse there's a bad curse that hurts I leave you at church, passengers inside of a fast hearse Escapin the wrath of Jerse It's a sad earth when my pen dirts Axe murderer type of massacre occurs if we match words I'm past blurs, I smack herbs Gritty-green eyes like Badu Leavin' minds fucked up like Maxwell's hair-do And I'mma be the sickest 'til I'm dead The type to rent Halloween 4 eight times just to laugh at LL's head My new album is Flo-Jo's heart, watch it blow up You ain't just wack, you're what wack wants to be when it grows up [Verse 3: Kool G Rap] The Godfather saga, hit you dead in the chest like shots of Vodka Funerals crowded like soccer while I'm watchin' opera Blast like Sinatra, blast like Binaca Binoculars is how I'm watchin' droppin' from the chopper Mafia imposter You're left for dead with your face inside of your plate of pasta Freddy in a hasa? Salute to my crew to prosper You know how we do, we icepick the boulder You get dabbed over glasses of ice with the Bolla Blood on your shoulder, make Costra Nostra Keepin' the heater with the toasters Dough in the sofa, cashmeres and gator loafers We bulletproof the Rovers, pimp-smack you sober Our whole crew is skippin' to lieutenants and soldiers Flip on you the way Montana did to Manolo Condition vulgar holdin' on blowers older than Yoda Leave bad odors when we give cobras crystal like yoga Colder than the caps that's in the Polar, bubble like soda Bend these old Lola Falanas over Cross me, cut out your momma's ovaries Kid, you know the steez, have your wake smellin' like potpourri On the low-key, ship keys to overseas My shit gets sold quicker than groceries K-double-O-L-and-G, you know it's me