First and foremost, some rappers are sweet like fructose
 When I cock back these lyrics, y'all punks best be ghost
 I be the seven twenty-one, eighteen twenty-one
 The illest one, I'm almost doper than anyone
 Straight out the late nights of Bed-Stuy
 Steppin up, y'all put your weapons up, I make heads fly
 You're artificial like saccarhin
 You're crazy fake, it's more than skills you be lackin in
 Concepts you bite, cause your identity ain't tight
 Tryin to be somethin you're not, like pullin a knife at a gunfight
 I'm troopin on night air like flight number 106
 and gettin all up in your fuckin mix
 You get me upset, and I got you uptight
 cause my committee's in your city tonight, AIGHT?
 We got seventeen million of us plus, two million Indians
 That makes 19 mil, lightin shit up like Wild Bill
 I be the, supreme father plus the ill kid with drama
 My karma, creates the teflon to pierce your body armor
 And make sure you check the shit before you walk to me, or talk to me
 Steppin to me improperly, you just may catch the weaponry
 My specialty is tearin tracks out the frame
 You know my fuckin name, I rule all game
 I'm universal on all planes, what's your claim?

 [Guru]
 Yo, I be your highness, in slickness, you chumps bear witness
 Tremendous tropper, verbal nigga witht he fitness
 Drop you for your spot with the blazer then I blast ya
 Slice precise like ?fenny hanas? when I come to bring the dramas
 Styles so swift, that you can't peep the God
 as your lyrics get buried, six feet deep in my backyard
 I laugh hard, while your mental I run through mazes
 Dark stages of terror to shatter your dressing room mirror
 Your whole error gets crushed, your whole show gets bumrushed
 Too many dumb punks, want to enter this rap scene
 Kickin Willie Bobo, but need to be slapped clean
 into oblivion, the true champion always rises
 I bring surprises to the chief plus their advisers
 Size me up, and you will find nothing's larger
 Catch more wreck on your dome, than a deranged fuckin barber
 So what you made some dough, you best keep on scramblin
 All your vanity, is instantly crushed, when I start handlin
 Demandin that you pay, for your weak rhyme display
 Coast to coast, I break the fakes everyday

 [Krumb Snatcha]
 I see myself as the black Rap Messiah
 Colossal spreadin my gospel through electrical wires
 Spit fire through speech, so I can reach each and every
 Tom Dick and Jerry slippin like petroleum jelly
 Too busy in the limelight, can't rhyme tight
 I got divine right to bring y'all to light
 Somethin ain't right, to be an MC, you gotta thug
 Or to thug you gotta be an MC, this shit is bugged
 Show love but few; deal with crew and crew only
 And think universal like Sony
 Phony pounds and fake hugs is usually avoided
 Give a fuck like Pizza Hut I got to stay Noyd-ed
 Cause that same nigga you trust, could be that same cat
 behind that gat that bust, quiet ya, with the silencer
 Keep it hush, ashes to dust, then dust to ashes
 Nowadays it's who pull out the fastest, imagine this
 rap shit without this gat shit, or the phony cat
 in black talkin bout how much his Mac spit
 But this year, GangStarr got changes bein made
 No wack shit bein played no fake macks gettin paid
 No Versace MC's, with a mouth full of Mo'
 Soundin like a hoe spittin that old-fashioned show flow
 I bombshell that pastel Chanel rap through a Maxwell
 Ever since young Krumb, was taught to rap well
 Goin deep, process of thought, when my eyes closes
 Awaken with interpretive robe and sandals like Moses
 Travellin high sands and Eastern lands for the answers
 Ignorance is spreadin through the streets like it was cancer
 Too many drinkin not thinkin, when behind that trigger
 A 38 escalate the murder rate, for us niggaz
 it's like, microphone roulette cause nowadays MC's is gettin wet
 over someone else's fake gangsta rep