Get Bizy ft. Kurupt & Bad Lucc (Prod. by Terrace Martin)

[Intro: Terrace Martin]
What’s happening y’all? It’s Terrace Martin, ay, so check it out
I got three microphones, three of the dopest emcees, a drum machine, two turntables and a mixer
That’s all we need man, we’ll pass the first mic to Kurupt, yeah
[Verse 1: Kurupt]
I'm the militant military
Bald eagle, squeezer, Caesar, Ebenezer
I am the worst (what)
That's what my bitch told me after I took her purse and shook her down
Looking for a pound in that purse, bitch
I'm scandalous, I poke you like deer antlers, cancerous
Cause I ain't got no time to play
When I ask you a question, answer is the lie where you lay
Lay where you die, never wake up die where you lay
It's hard to survive nigga or the high where you stay
I'm important like the Pope, I'm the king of New York
I'm live from South Central, I'm a Muslim on pork
Kurupt the world's fetish, they feen and scratch
I'm multiplied by twenty thousand fiends and crack
You add me to music and the fiends react
Everybody's addicted, turning bodies to liquid
I love your style but I hate your vibe
I don't want your wife but your bitch is mine
Murder methods of mayhem, tap or dap up the great
Arsenic rapper, sodium cacodylate
Wizardry, misery, young Merlin
She’ll love me, I make her walls fall like Berlin
You ever heard of a murderer, well you must of my nigga
I'm a mixture between Big, Snoopy and Jigga
I spit meat cleavers, I'm saucy as Picante
My wife's a diva like Beyonce but hood like Shante, motherfucker
I run amok on busters
They call me Kurupt, forget that, I fuck you up
I sizzle these motherfuckers in the inkling of a second, murder method
[Terrace Martin]
Ay yo, where my Compton homeboy at? Kendrick Lamar, haha, yeah
[Verse 2: Kendrick Lamar]
Kurupt, let me erupt (what)
Like flammable gases under the Earth’s crust (uh)
My flammable passion can get the Earth crushed (what)
It’s 2012 once I unveil lyrics that can derail a train of a subway entrance
Say I bust like Jerome Bennett and that’s a must
Offended the best, magnum on my dick defending my flesh
Seven holes like a clarinet
Clarify your worthiness or foresee funeral services
Affirmative action pop up on your furnishing
Unfortunate future for us to fly free under God’s firmament
Me versus whosever’s dead, that’s God’s tournament
Kendrick the Arthritis, hand that hates to write this
What’s good, I’m in your hood like workers of Midas
Purpose is to be righteous
But my Malcolm X is extra’d out like a crip yelling his hood out when he fighting
I never seen a key, all I seen was a triton
I’m always kicking up dust, I’ve never been hiking
I’ve always had a licence for this hip-hop
Influenced by the rap that vocally said they killed cops
I’m riding on E with a bitch that pill pop
Now that’s the irony that I give you when the zip lock
Bag and sell it at doo wop, after that pass the doo wop
Lick a few shots for the few blocks that we on
For ain’t no beat that’s flawed or unique so please don’t try to Xerox
Copy written, niggas bitten
My style since I was backflipping
Inside canals, LA gears with the laces missing
Me Against the World in the background, mama had gave me bowl cut in the kitchen
Big cousin became a statistic, I chose the right flows and remained consistent
Voila, now they got me, haha
Expectations is high, Compton or Bed-Stuy
To them skinny niggas in the Chi bumping Common
But the only thing in common is crime and more violence
I play a little game, you say you fly, I’m over fly
I’m the pilot that’s left on the plane, cloud nine
That’s where I’m at with it
Punchlines till your jaw dented
Catapult your Buick till your car spinning
[Terrace Martin]
Watts up, Bad Lucc
[Verse 3: Bad Lucc]
Believe me, I’m Martin Luther and Jeezy
Hard to shoot and they need me
Created from a grain of sand that’s rolled up in a rizla
First time I met the RZA, I reminded him of GZA
Back then I was a cold little nigga painting pictures
Avalon did that, [?] six pack
Raised by them killers that’ll never bring them kids back
Tiny Archibald on the dirty side of law
I was inches from that building till my bitches tucked the raw, I’m lawless
Hell to the supreme, I should beam that beamer for gleaming
And blame it on that lean cause I’m leaning
The movie is rated R, [?] Shady, huh
Dick off his lady friends in a Bentley, huh
You ain’t seen us in a while, jack
Rastic, I’m god and a buggy is a mousetrap
You’ll become about that, big homies ain’t out yet
Youngins run the city or the biddy like I’m about that
Sharpen my tools, step out the kitchen homie
Young Drake from kitchen [?] told me that street shit is what they missing from me
Is so I’m outside with the Eastside
Sound of the piece and the heat flies
Flat fleece, the fleece bang when niggas get DP’d at beef time
Warren, no Griffin
You listen, you’ll be held accountable to what I’m spitting
I’m Johnny Cage with Timberlands mean I come with me
You got the blogs, I got the streets
I guess we even, not really
I’m cut from a different cloth, rappers pissing them off
Serving drinks out of gun stores, cocktails is Molotovs
I’m bored crazy in a booth, if I don’t get that coupe soon
I swear to God I’ll turn Hip-Hop Awards to a saloon
Move, make way for the fat kid with an attitude
If I batter you, I cook that last meal to faggot food, on mama’s dough
You sugar puffs and honor rolls
I’m angus like, Genghis Khan in my video
You can’t stop it though, from P.F. Changs to Pappadeaux
I eat a nigga up like Domino's, yeah
[Outro: Terrace Martin]
Yeah yeah, ay so there you have it
Terrace Martin
Kurupt, Young Gotti
Kendrick Lamar, Compton stand the fuck up
Bad Lucc, Watts stand the fuck up, you feel me
Crazy Toones, South Central, what up hood?
I’mma get the fuck outta here, man I’m done, man let the shit talk man