Blowin’ Up the Spot lyrics

[Verse 1]
Ah, so now ya got me p*ssed off, blast off, lift off
Time for me to twist off a vocal fist off
Into your dome piece, home piece
I heard your chick wants to bone me
I get wild like rugby, respected like Bugsy
Don't even ask me 'cause I'm livin' lovely
Born to succeed, foes bleed, true indeed
The oral combat will romp that, you're one of my seeds
When I first busted on the scene
n*gga, you knew I had more than a gangster lean
I mean, my lean is gangster, though, so check it
I'll stick an MC for his spot and sign in blood on his wack record
Boo-ya-ka, to your face as I ruin ya
Clown ya, dumbfound ya, while I'm screwin' the
f*ck out your girl as she steps into my world
I'm not the tallest, but that ass, I'll polish
And if the hooker runs her mouth, she gets cut off
But then you'll sweat her, 'cause like my leather, you're butter soft
Your style stinks, kid, you're garbage
And if you keep talkin sh*t, I'ma make you pay homage
'Cause the G to the U to the R-U came too far to
Let you slide through, rhymes will scar you
And who the f*ck are you anyway?
I catch more wreck in a minute than if you rhyme for ten days
Throw the cash in the pot
You better dash, n*gga, 'cause I'm blowin up the spot
[Chorus]
I'm 'bout to blow the f*ck up
I'm 'bout to blow the f*ck up

[Verse 2]
No escaping the explosion, those who are dozin', I close in
Set the thermostat at sub-zero, they're frozen
Extreme temperatures from my mic stuns amateurs
Unable to conquer the Gang, I ain't mad at ya
Peace to Jeru, the Big Shug, and the Group Home
Keepin' it real, no playin' n*ggas or chrome
I'm way past the kid sh*t, brothers already did sh*t
You want some props? Yo, dog, here's a biscuit
I'm a smooth n*gga and my groove's bigger, move, n*gga
And we don't care who's with you, got the picture?
And you don't wanna hear the burners go pop
Gang Starr, motherf*cker, what? Blowin' up the spot

[Chorus]
I'm 'bout to blow the f*ck up
I'm 'bout to blow the f*ck up
I'm 'bout to blow the f*ck up
I'm 'bout to blow the f*ck up

[Verse 3]
I go from one format, then switch to the next
Reflex sets the pitch, vocals rip through projects
Crazy shouts are heard all around
'Cause the Gang Starr sound carries more weight per pound
I got some brand new Timbs, so MCs sing new hymns
You better repent, come correct or represent
Or get stomped, smacked and slapped, cap peeled back
I got you open and now you cling to my sack
Get off, hands off, stay off, you're way off
You rookie motherf*ckers, it's the finals, not the playoffs
I'll break you up into particles
To small pieces because your brain is miniscule
You little fool, come learn the tools of the trade
I made the rules, so go to school and get played
Just when you're thinkin' that your jam is hot
Up steps the n*ggas who be blowin' up the spot