Refrain: ("I'm the calm one, but my crew is sorta sick")
Yeah, Big
L is the first to represent.
Verse One:
Big L Yo, on the mic is
Big L, that brother who kicks flavs,
God. Known for sendin' garbage
MCs to the graveyard.
I pack a gat, not a slingshot; step to this and get an ass-whoopin' like
Rodney King got.
Or get beat to your death like
Cochise, my laws is no peace, **** the police.
MCs get braggin' about cash they collect, but them chumps is like
Ray Charles, cuz they ain't seen no money yet.
Trash rappers
I tax and spark,
I be wettin' ************s up like water rides at
Action Park.
A ************ stuck me, and that ain't funny son, so
I got money gun, they wet him and his honey bun.
Cuz phony ************s
I froze, it's a fact,
I flip fast on foes with fabulous fantastic flows.
L is the rebel type,
I'm rough as a metal pipe, **** a
Benz, cuz
I could pull skins on a pedal-bike.
Props, I got the most, no
MC comes close,coast-to-coast, shows
I host, foes
I roast, adios,
I'm ghost...
Refrain Verse
Two: D'Shawn
Yo, street ? in
New York is a place this ************ stands with a machete
I'm a crazy
Eddie Scissorhands.
Born with such a thirst to kill,
I can tap 200 quarters from a $50 bill.
Cuttin' ************-************s down with a hundred pound axe like
I was raised by psycho-crazed lumberjacks.
So in a battle
I be stabbin',choppin'
MCs like trees, piece-by-piece buildin' cabins.
I'm a maniac magician, abra cadabra, makin' pain appear cuz
I'm-a grab arusty chain to make a noose to choke your ass so hard, you're spittin' ****in'
Adam's Apple juice.
So come check the magic show by
Deshawn, and witness the way
I put you to death with a magic wand.
Turnin' your home to a casket, turn your wife into a widow and your son into a bastard.
Cuz I love to keep
MCs sufferin', beggin' for big, heavy bags of
Bufferin.
Baseball battin' 'em, splattin' 'em, so many homicide records, my cases went platinum.
D'Shawn is nice; known for givin' out head cracks without touchin' dice.
Just pain and punishment from the
Boogie Down
Bronxter...
D'Shawn the maniac street mobster.
Refrain Verse
Three: Lord
Finesse It's the
F-I-N-E-double-
S-E, don't play or stress me
Cause that shit don't impress me
I make papes off the ****in'
I create, and then dictate
So get your mother****ing facts straight
I got skills and
I'm hard to kill,
So y'all bitch-ass rappes better chill and just guard your grill
You grab a mic and always get hype
Talkin bout ****ing ******s up
When you can barely beat your bitch-ass right
So stop ridin my dilznick cause
I can still kick the ill ****in' on the mother****ing real tip
Hit like Foreman when
I'm brawlin
Those who think
I'm fallin,
I'll play your monkey-ass like a organ
I got crazy ****ers in the city noid
Got mad *******, but it's not cause
I'm a mother****ing pretty-boy
I'm ruthless,
I'm not on that goody-goody tip
That ****in' played out with that
Beat Street/
Electric Boogie ****in'
I'll stomp any rapper that you ??? if they ass is weak, they better chill and grab a seat
And go 'head with they master plan
Stevie Wonder probably see me 'fore half you rappers can
You can't hang and you're fallin fast
You rappers that's trash better dash and start haulin ass
Cuz I'm out to rag ****in'
************ up a show, collect my dough and step off with a bad bitch
Spectators always have the best time
When they come to a show and hear a funky
Lord Finesse rhyme
I'm out to get bigger, lounge and make rich figures
You'll never catch
Finesse associating with ****ing gangsters
I work overtime when it's time to go for mine
Crab-ass rappers, don't even front cuz ya'll know the time
So it's time for me to step
Peace to Showbiz and
AG and I'm off to the left
Refrain Verse
Four: AG Check-check-check it.
A to the G is gonna wreck it.
On stage, on my record, so ****in' don't forget it.
I'm the man.
The one-man-band is on my right hand. (His name is Show nitwit, so get wit the program)
I get a hit from my buddha blessed.
Turn my hat to the back, now let's see who's the best.
I like my pockets fat, never ever flat.
************s wanna jack, my .45 ain't havin' that.
Hoes get no dough, so why try?
Think it's gonna be a hit 'n' run?
Wrong, it's a drive-by.
************s catchin' tantrums,because your girl's never safe around the
Midnight Phantom.
They predicted
I'm-a fall; they must be down with
Michael Jackson cuz that ****in' is
Off The Wall.
You don't believe me, ask that brother
Show: snatchin' hotties, grabbin' hotties, lettin' ************ know.
You come wrong if you don't come strong...
YOU BETTER
CATCH WREC
K! ****er,
I made the song.
Styles will vary, they won't carry over.
Don't **** with no
Devil, I'd rather marry
Oprah. Yeah, you got it,
I'm pro-black, and my skills are so phat,
I pay my dues,
I don't owe jack.
You bite my style,
I can spot it.
Tryin' real hard to get it, you can forget it, because you don't got it.
And my skills are excellent.
Diggin' in the
Crates and it's time to
Represent!
Refrain
Refrain: ("I'm the calm one, but my crew is sorta sick")
Yeah, Big
L is the first to represent.
Verse One:
Big L Yo, on the mic is
Big L, that brother who kicks flavs,
God. Known for sendin' garbage
MCs to the graveyard.
I pack a gat, not a slingshot; step to this and get an ass-whoopin' like
Rodney King got.
Or get beat to your death like
Cochise, my laws is no peace, **** the police.
MCs get braggin' about cash they collect, but them chumps is like
Ray Charles, cuz they ain't seen no money yet.
Trash rappers
I tax and spark,
I be wettin' ************s up like water rides at
Action Park.
A ************ stuck me, and that ain't funny son, so
I got money gun, they wet him and his honey bun.
Cuz phony ************s
I froze, it's a fact,
I flip fast on foes with fabulous fantastic flows.
L is the rebel type,
I'm rough as a metal pipe, **** a
Benz, cuz
I could pull skins on a pedal-bike.
Props, I got the most, no
MC comes close,coast-to-coast, shows
I host, foes
I roast, adios,
I'm ghost...
Refrain Verse
Two: D'Shawn
Yo, street ? in
New York is a place this ************ stands with a machete
I'm a crazy
Eddie Scissorhands.
Born with such a thirst to kill,
I can tap 200 quarters from a $50 bill.
Cuttin' ************-************s down with a hundred pound axe like
I was raised by psycho-crazed lumberjacks.
So in a battle
I be stabbin',choppin'
MCs like trees, piece-by-piece buildin' cabins.
I'm a maniac magician, abra cadabra, makin' pain appear cuz
I'm-a grab arusty chain to make a noose to choke your ass so hard, you're spittin' ****in'
Adam's Apple juice.
So come check the magic show by
Deshawn, and witness the way
I put you to death with a magic wand.
Turnin' your home to a casket, turn your wife into a widow and your son into a bastard.
Cuz I love to keep
MCs sufferin', beggin' for big, heavy bags of
Bufferin.
Baseball battin' 'em, splattin' 'em, so many homicide records, my cases went platinum.
D'Shawn is nice; known for givin' out head cracks without touchin' dice.
Just pain and punishment from the
Boogie Down
Bronxter...
D'Shawn the maniac street mobster.
Refrain Verse
Three: Lord
Finesse It's the
F-I-N-E-double-
S-E, don't play or stress me
Cause that shit don't impress me
I make papes off the ****in'
I create, and then dictate
So get your mother****ing facts straight
I got skills and
I'm hard to kill,
So y'all bitch-ass rappes better chill and just guard your grill
You grab a mic and always get hype
Talkin bout ****ing ******s up
When you can barely beat your bitch-ass right
So stop ridin my dilznick cause
I can still kick the ill ****in' on the mother****ing real tip
Hit like Foreman when
I'm brawlin
Those who think
I'm fallin,
I'll play your monkey-ass like a organ
I got crazy ****ers in the city noid
Got mad *******, but it's not cause
I'm a mother****ing pretty-boy
I'm ruthless,
I'm not on that goody-goody tip
That ****in' played out with that
Beat Street/
Electric Boogie ****in'
I'll stomp any rapper that you ??? if they ass is weak, they better chill and grab a seat
And go 'head with they master plan
Stevie Wonder probably see me 'fore half you rappers can
You can't hang and you're fallin fast
You rappers that's trash better dash and start haulin ass
Cuz I'm out to rag ****in'
************ up a show, collect my dough and step off with a bad bitch
Spectators always have the best time
When they come to a show and hear a funky
Lord Finesse rhyme
I'm out to get bigger, lounge and make rich figures
You'll never catch
Finesse associating with ****ing gangsters
I work overtime when it's time to go for mine
Crab-ass rappers, don't even front cuz ya'll know the time
So it's time for me to step
Peace to Showbiz and
AG and I'm off to the left
Refrain Verse
Four: AG Check-check-check it.
A to the G is gonna wreck it.
On stage, on my record, so ****in' don't forget it.
I'm the man.
The one-man-band is on my right hand. (His name is Show nitwit, so get wit the program)
I get a hit from my buddha blessed.
Turn my hat to the back, now let's see who's the best.
I like my pockets fat, never ever flat.
************s wanna jack, my .45 ain't havin' that.
Hoes get no dough, so why try?
Think it's gonna be a hit 'n' run?
Wrong, it's a drive-by.
************s catchin' tantrums,because your girl's never safe around the
Midnight Phantom.
They predicted
I'm-a fall; they must be down with
Michael Jackson cuz that ****in' is
Off The Wall.
You don't believe me, ask that brother
Show: snatchin' hotties, grabbin' hotties, lettin' ************ know.
You come wrong if you don't come strong...
YOU BETTER
CATCH WREC
K! ****er,
I made the song.
Styles will vary, they won't carry over.
Don't **** with no
Devil, I'd rather marry
Oprah. Yeah, you got it,
I'm pro-black, and my skills are so phat,
I pay my dues,
I don't owe jack.
You bite my style,
I can spot it.
Tryin' real hard to get it, you can forget it, because you don't got it.
And my skills are excellent.
Diggin' in the
Crates and it's time to
Represent!
Refrain