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letra de the man - masta killa

[superb]
f-ck y’all n-ggas talkin about?
my flow, right?

everytime i did this sh-t, you n-ggas got hype yo
superb’s the next n-gga, respect for those before me
in these last days, i’m bringin rap glory
in the streets they hear it, some will remember the lyrics
in my demise, some will remember me in spirit
and i ain’t tryin to die like ‘pac and big
and lose my talent to a cultured thug life
i’m a man, seein mindstate of balance
takes years, fam’, like f-ck y’all plans
see, we feel like stars, shine like stars
f-ck stars, f-ck y’all, we examples
samples of the hood, thugs from the hood
young bloods in the hood like, they love the hood
they love the young b-tches, nickel bags and guns
in the benches, we see it all off the benches
i learned how to sew seein n-ggas st-tches
and the pain, don’t even ask who ’bout the pain
they k!lled main, i won’t maintain
by the bus stop, two blocks from the dust spots
somebody busted shots, they said sam got got
d-mn, he wildin in the back cab rap
that eat swine, f-cked his arms and hold nines
that’s far rock for you, my block for you
y’all b-tches n-ggas only live in jail cuz ock know you
when i come home, watch how shots blow you
through the upholstery, even through your mom’s groceries
little sam died three months later
he got set up in the elevator, his cape was regulated
his name faded, he has a son by this b-tch he dated
shorty waited for two dead case kid
he’d get them n-ggas kids if he couldn’t get them
then one day out of the blue, bam!
he heard sh-t like last names and cars rarin
the larger than life n-ggas was about to leave here

[sampled singing]

[masta k!lla]
my people stressed out, we seventy dead and starvin
son couldn’t walk through my yard past curfew
i rose from an era of terror where it was legal
to tote guns, get red and bust a n-gga head
and if p-ssyhole for dead, left p-ssyhole for dead
what the f-ck was his song?
never heard of this till n-ggas started snitchin
i’m still st-tchin motherf-ckers up
i deal with high sciences, supreme refinements
till any wicked germ is destoryed and burned
we the gods without question
prove what i’m manifestin, all show ways and actions
hopeful that, l!ck your cannon
i’m ill when i shoot to peal like ed o’bannon
in my head is a thought, perm c-cked, off safety
shots fired, follow blood trails to the stairwell
faced down, he lay sound, rounds to his crown
shorty hip flock was midtown, big fly holdin him down
with the dead-arm, siren sounds
bullets chip brick, precincts followed by the ambulance
respond to the bomb threat
i picked up his mc tray through the masters
i’m sharper than my carpentry blade
the culture carven into mountains
the faces of my eight cl-ssmates
that stomp through the streets of states for protect ya neck tapes
wu-tang t-shirts and bandanas
we sn-tch mics and snuff n-ggas who jack the rappin

[sampled singing]

- masta killa

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