Make 'Em Pay
14,541
Hip-Hop/Rap
Make 'Em Payは、アルバム『{albumName}』の一部として1998年3月31日にVirgin RecordsによりリリースされましたMoment of Truth
メロディック度
楽曲がどれだけ明確で覚えやすいメロディを持ち、はっきりとした音楽パターンに沿っているかを示します。メロディック度が高い楽曲は、わかりやすく印象に残る楽器やボーカルラインが特徴です。
アコースティック度
楽曲が、電子楽器やデジタル合成音の代わりに、どの程度アコースティック楽器(ピアノ、ギター、バイオリン、ドラム、サックスなど)に依存しているかを示します。
ヴァランス
楽曲のハーモニーやリズムによって伝わる音楽的なポジティブ度や感情的トーンを示します。値が高いほど幸福感、興奮、陶酔などの感情を表し、低いほど悲しみ、怒り、憂鬱などの感情を表します。
ダンサビリティ
テンポの安定性、リズムパターン、ビートの強調などの要素を組み合わせて、楽曲が踊りやすいかどうかを示します。ダンス向きの楽曲は、一定のテンポ、反復的な音楽構造、強いダウンビートを持つ傾向があります。
エネルギー
楽曲の知覚される強さを示し、テンポ、音量の変化、音の密度などによって影響されます。エネルギーが高い曲は、力強いリズムや密度の高い編成を特徴とし、エネルギーが低い曲は、音の間隔が広く、テンポもゆったりとした構成になる傾向があります。
BPM87
クレジット
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Gang Starr
Performer
Krumb Snatcha
Vocals
DJ Premier
Programming, Keyboards
Guru
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Chris Martin
Composer
D. Gibbs
Composer
Keith Elam
Composer
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
DJ Premier
Producer, Mixing Engineer
Guru
Producer
Adam Loeffler
Immersive Mixing Engineer
歌詞
MC's beware
First and foremost, some rappers are sweet like fructose
When I cock back these lyrics, y'all punks best be ghost
I be the seven twenty-one, eighteen twenty-one
The illest one, I'm almost doper than anyone
Straight out the late nights of Bed-Sty
Steppin' up, y'all put your weapons up, I make heads fly
You're artificial like saccharin
You're crazy fake, it's more than skills you be lackin' in
Concepts you bite, 'cause your identity ain't tight
Tryin' to be somethin' you're not, like pullin' a knife at a gunfight
I'm troopin' on that airline flight number 1-0-6
And gettin' all up in your fuckin' mix
You got me upset, and I got you uptight
'Cause my committee's in your city tonight, aight?
We got seventeen million of us, plus two million Indians
That makes nineteen mill', lightin' shit up like Wild Bill
I be the supreme father plus the ill kid, with drama
My karma creates the Teflon to pierce your body armor
And make sure you check the shit before you walk to me, or talk to me
Steppin' to me improperly, you just may catch the weaponry
My specialty is tearin' tracks out the frame
You know my fuckin' name, I rule all game
I'm universal on all planes, what's your claim?
Make 'em pay
Make 'em pay
MC's beware
Your enemy's crazed
Make 'em pay
MC's beware
Yo, I be your highness, in slickness, you chumps bear witness
Tremendous trooper, verbal **** with the fitness
Drop you for your spot with the blazer, then I blast you
Slice precise like Benihana's when I come to bring the dramas
Styles so swift, that you can't peep the God
As your lyrics get buried six feet deep in my backyard
I laugh hard, while your mental I run through mazes
Dark stages of terror to shatter your dressin' room mirror
Your whole error gets crushed, your whole show gets bum-rushed
Too many dumb punks want to enter this rap scene
Kickin' Willie Bobo, but need to be slapped clean
Into oblivion, the true champion always rises
I bring surprises to the chief, plus their advisers
Size me up, and you will find nothing's larger
Catch more wreck on your dome than a deranged fuckin' barber
So what you made some dough? You best keep on scramblin'
All your vanity is instantly crushed when I start handlin'
Demandin' that you pay, for your weak rhyme display
Coast to coast, I break the fakes everyday
Make 'em pay
Make 'em pay
MC's beware
Your enemy's crazed
Make 'em pay
MC's beware
Your enemy's crazed
I see myself as the Black rap messiah
Colossal spreadin' my gospel through electrical wires
Spit fire through speech, so I can reach each Tom, Dick, and Jerry
Slippin' like petroleum jelly
Too busy in the limelight, can't rhyme tight
I got divine right to bring dark to light
Somethin' ain't right, to be an MC, you gotta thug
Or to thug you gotta be an MC, this shit is bugged
Show love but few, deal with crew and crew only
And think universal like Sony
Phony pounds and fake hugs is usually avoided
Give a fuck like Pizza Hut, I got to stay noyd-ed
'Cause that same **** you trust, could be that same cat behind that gat that bust
Quiet ya, with the silencer
Keep it hush, ashes to dust, then dust to ashes
Nowadays it's who pull out the fastest, imagine this
Rap shit without this gat shit, or the phony cat
In black talkin' 'bout how much his MAC spit
But this year, Gang Starr got changes bein' made
No wack shit bein' played, no fake macks gettin' paid
No Versace MC's with a mouth full of mo'
Soundin' like a ho spittin' at a fashion show flow
I bombshell that pastel Chanel rap through a maxwell
Ever since young Krumb was taught to rap well
Goin' deep, process of thought, when my eyes closes
Awaken with a tub and a robe and sandals like Moses
Travellin' high, sands and eastern lands for the answers
Ignorance is spreadin' through the streets like it was cancer
Too many drinkin', not thinkin', when behind that trigger
A .38 escalate the murder rate for us ****
It's like microphone roulette, 'cause nowadays MC's is gettin' wet
Over someone else's fake gangsta rep
Written by: Chris Martin, D. Gibbs, Keith Elam

