- Votes:
- See also:
Kevon Edmonds - Gangsta Disease lyrics
How many glocks can you cock 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 bullshit samples
 I watch and construct a rapper bout his conduct
 And about, how many niggaz he done bucked
 But ask the question, you carry gats and rock knifes?
 But ask yourself, can you rock the motherfuckin 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
 [Chorus: 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 bullshit 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 annualKevon Edmonds - Gangsta Disease - http://motolyrics.com/kevon-edmonds/gangsta-disease-lyrics.html
 Don't need instructions for bustin percussions 
 I rock without the manual
 Like a cannibal, watch Krumb eat
 Up any self-proclaimed killer 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
[Chorus 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 niggaz cards
 Cause if y'all was really hard, your ass'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-ass blind
 So now your fired, a job flippin burgers
 Or back to the lab writin them fantasy murders
[Chorus x2]
Niggaz pleeeaaase!








