Krumb Snatcha - Gangsta Disease lyrics

How many Glocks can you co*k on one record? Videos of hoes naked, hip hop's been infected Now lets correct it, before it's too late To fix our mistake of lettin record labels infiltrate (for real) Cause if there's money to make Then there's an artist they create Ignorate to hip hop, meanin he's fake Now lets take the average emcee for example They lacin with the same used bullsh** samples I watch and construct a rapper bout his conduct And about, how many n***as he done bucked But ask the question, you carry gats and rock knifes? But ask yourself, can you rock the motherf**in mic? All this gangsta advocatin is aggravatin And aggitatin, it's time for us to stop confiscatin With wack rapper with that emcees Thats plagued by the gangsta disease [Hook: x2] Now everybody wants to be a mobster Big gold chain, ghetto fame, eatin lobster Lexus keys, vacations over seas Hip hop got infected by the gangstga disease Wanna be drug incorporator, street life narrator But nothin but a bullsh** immitator Exagerrator with the bust-shot chatter, that don't flatter That mean you need to change your subject matter You scatter like mice, when I read life Into a microphone device, nothin nice I'm livin once a year plus the annual Don't need instructions for bustin percussions I rock without the manual Like a cannibal, watch Krumb eat Up any self-proclaimed k**er comin from the streets Cause his speech don't move me Thats like watchin one of them old John Wayne western movies The Fugees said it loud and clear "Wack emcees in the rear" cause hip hop is out here [Hook x2] So what? You carry hot Glocks and rocks So what? That type of rap is number one on the charts So what? Your video was on MTV You still ain't an emcee to me So whether you toke nines or bust rhymes to me it's no interest While I distribute lyrics and pump the cracks on your Benz's Part time rapper, part time gun clapper But what you really are is just a full-time actor Crumb snatchers, pullin n***as cards Cause if y'all was really hard, your a**'d be barred It's kind of odd, your gettin pimped by your label A and R's tellin you fables on why he don't pay you So while you kick rhymes of doin crime and bustin nines Your record company's robbin your stupid-a** blind So now your fired, a job flippin burgers Or back to the lab writin them fantasy murders [Hook x2] n***as pleeeaaase!