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(feat. Big L, Lord Finesse, A.G., Fat Joe) |
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"Where are you?" "Hey, there you are!" |
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"How does it feel to know you only have a few more seconds to live?" |
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[gunshot] |
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[Cut and scratched] "Big L" |
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[Big L] |
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Check it, I stay jeweled up, pockets swelled up from banks I held up |
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Plenty bitch-ass niggas Big L stuck |
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I never catch cold feet when I hold heat |
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We roll deep, Triple Fat dogs in their old jeep |
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I catch a fag three o'clock in the morn |
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On the block all alone and put the glock to his dome |
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Tell him "Give it up quick, you nitwit, don't try to get slick |
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Or I'm a let this four-fifth spit and leave your shit split" |
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Grip, it ain't nothing decent about me |
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A true thug for real, you can ask the precinct about me |
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A rap junkie, don't try to play me like some flunky |
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Jewels be chunky, pockets lumpy, attitude grumpy |
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Mad niggas be fronting the life |
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Popping mad shit, trying to be something they not |
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Your faggot ass better stay to dancing, don't even look at me |
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I might break your jaw for glancing, that's right |
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In '97 Harlem kids is blowing |
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And we don't trip, we'll let a bitch starve til her ribs are showing |
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[Cut and scratched] "Lord Finesse" |
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[Lord Finesse] |
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It's the divine mastermind, I turn nickels to dimes |
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The authentic genuine that's out to shine |
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The cool cat, the true mack, the smooth raps |
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Chickens be like "Who's that?" I be doing my thing, kid (True dat) |
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Forget fronting, I'm beyond that, I roll with brothers ready for combat |
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All for eye-to-eye contact |
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With skills, G, yo it's ill, see, for real, B |
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Ain't no barbeque, niggas better stop trying to grill me |
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Huh, sent that style to the essence |
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Got niggas stressing my style, pull like fluoresence |
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No question, tough type to clutch mics |
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No positive upright, I'm the "I don't give a ****" type |
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Expose the facts, you know the haps |
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We go to laugh astrological, like the signs in the Zodiac |
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To rap you, out the stack glue, word up |
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My style's tighter than a fat bitch in a cat suit |
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Suprise G, it's not wise see to size me |
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When I operate, it's Smooth Sailing like Ron Isely |
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Gotta do my thing, word up (Beg ya pardon?) |
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Time to bounce, gotta skate like Tonya Harding |
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[Cut and scratched] "A.G." |
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[A.G.] |
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Yo I'm the cleverest, top ten terrorist |
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Chickens ever diss, they become featherless |
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Hate derelicts, certified gold metalist |
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You play fly cause I'm the most high like Everest |
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Look at all these fakes, musically you imitate the crates |
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Won't succeed moving at full speed with no breaks |
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Like Jake, watch me take your entourage |
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Can't see me, I'm camoflauge, and besides, I'm God |
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Mad hard, like the S.A.T., have shorties |
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Caught up in the mental, watch her bless A.G. |
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Eveidently, you still don't know, because you tempt me |
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Thought you was the boss when your fat thoughts were empty |
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Not Fat Joey Crack, but still Jealous One's Envy |
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Who sent me? D.I.T.C., good and plenty |
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Like the doctor, smoke a Spike Joint and watch "Clockers" |
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Get rude like Shabba, make moves behind my blockers |
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Crazy sickness, you want the pure, you'd better pick this |
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Bitches can't get this, faggots remain dickless |
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[Cut and scratched] "Fat Joe" |
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[Fat Joe] |
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Before we get started, let's talk about these coward-hearted MC's |
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That claim to be true O.G.'s and war specialists |
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Forever busting guns on the circus ship |
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But when the beef comes, get on the ??? |
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You know the deal, I come with nothing but the real |
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Certified pejente, recognize mi gente |
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Whether East Coast or West Coast, I'll lick 'em all |
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Strip naked, bitch niggas will never be respected |
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Joey Green, bagging doubles up in Bowling Green |
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For all my team, packing the nine, for soon as this team is rolling clean |
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You know the team, never giving a **** |
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Playing thick in the cut, get your shit laced up |
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WHAT THE ****! |
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[Cut and scratched] "Diamond D" |
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[Diamond] |
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Yo I'm flipping on niggas like Dre's and Cracks |
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My raps react on your cardiac like a heart attack |
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Some niggas front for stunts who want |
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Take a puff of the blunt and play a nigga like a chump |
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But I don't play that shit for no chicks |
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Sucking the next nigga's dick, moving pricks |
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I'm too slick for you high school dropouts |
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You got knocked and tried to cop out |
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Couldn't fight when the kids pulled the mop out |
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And wails you out, right at home saying "Bail me out" |
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Little small time, ****ed up when you called mines |
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D Squared, one of the greatest of all time |
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Yeah, D.I.T.C. representing for the '97, word life |
