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Yo I tell you niggas what |
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You better stay home and lay your ass in the cut |
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I'm goin' for heads, lay you for dead, foldin' emcees like bedspread |
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And you ain't had this much milk since you was breastfed |
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Galleons on courts for sports, I bust bubbles on the double |
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Destroyin' these fools who wanna give me trouble |
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Ball with stuffle, six feet, women be lovin' it |
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Brothers be thinkin o' stickin' but I be shovin' it |
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Ready, unload with fat tracks from lootkids |
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Doin' my thang since 16 in '86 |
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Hey yo, sayin' that the West ain't it |
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Nigga, I'll smack you in your mouth for that shit |
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Let me show you what I claim, I'm doin' my thang |
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But everybody out in Cali don't gangbang |
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You better open up them mic's and get out my face |
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Give me some space, better break out them old Nikes |
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You better run for the crib 'cause run in your jigs |
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I'll send you home with a broke back and cracked whig |
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Microphone's in control, so ready explode |
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Motherfuckers need to punch up the flexcode |
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Run the line |
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Run the line |
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Run the line |
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Run the line |
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Run the line |
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Run the line |
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Run the line |
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Heaven forbid, I rip kids, get they face blown |
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Bring 'em in packs, and I could rip 'em by the caseload |
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Ready explode on contact for that contract |
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Flash these lyrics and ready for mic-combat |
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Who wanna step to get a rep playin' double jet |
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Me and my man be on these tracks at the inner sect |
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Mass confuse, hit your fellas off with bad news |
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Tell 'em you tried but I just blew you out your damn shoes |
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Here's this mic, you can praise it if you need to |
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Should've been there when your brother really needed you |
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It's too late, had to blast off like 38's |
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Food for thought but don't be eatin' of no dirty plates |
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I keep it clean and always on the uppernut |
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Nigga, you soft and your rhymes need the toughin'-up |
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No gun chatter on the platter 'cause it doesn't matter |
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Me and the Wolf collaborate just to make it fatter |
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You better scatter like the roaches with the lights on |
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I tell these niggas don't you bother turn them mics on |
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Goin' deep like quarterbacks on they long throw |
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And Time Waits For No Man label Stones Throw |
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The LP, in '97 you'll be seein' me |
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Gradual shots to your nut got you seein' three |
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I'm runnin' rhymes while the clock is steady runnin' time |
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Crab emcees get in your block to start run in lines |
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Run the line |
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Run the line |
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Run the line |
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Run the line |
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Run the line |
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Run the line |
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Run the line |
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Comin' in thirst, brothers shouldn't say another word |
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Kickin' your rhymes but they was verses already heard |
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Give me respect, it be the Ras with the triple threat |
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Smash eject, 'cause already know what's comin' next |
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So I predict that all these brothers goin' to be ridin' dicks |
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Break out the axe because it's time that you get 86 |
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Playin' these scrubs in nightclubs like they legendary |
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I'm first class and everybody else is secondary |
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But don't you worry, all these brothers got your vision blurry |
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Ready to fix your cateracts with the fattest tracks |
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Keep it intact with screws, roll with tight tools |
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And now you missin' and your face is on tonight's news |
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So pay your dues, don't nobody make it overnight |
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You heard the singleand you thought that it was overwrite |
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No, 'cause I can do it to you every time |
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Me and Peanut Butter Wolf gotta run 'em lines |
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Run the line |
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Run the line |
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Run the line |
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Run the line |
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Run the line |
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Run the line |
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Run the line |
