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(feat. Defari and Dilated Peoples)
Don't front So many claim the fame, but never see the day When lyrically they could even run, in the Triple-A's This here's the major leagues, where big hits are guaranteed The Ken Griffey turbo 850 professional MC One more time that cat Defari With a sting operation so blatant we call it franchise Man sign, independent on some enterprise It's time to shoot straight, innovate, and make the world realize That mics get ripped, and spots get blown I strive to be a Golden State all-time great, like J-Ro I gets burned when the Technics turn on mix shows and mix tapes That you hear when a car turns left on the street You know that shit that make you bounce 'Nuf respect to Rasco and Evidence Yo hold it down on the mound I'm not like Hideo, don't got it Nomo I'm more like Randy Johnson, guaranteed heat for sure Yo this that where the big hits are guaranteed This ain't no minor league affair this here the major leagues You in the batter's box ready for combat (what?) But when you step up to the plate better bring it fat I throw spitballs and sliders, and hit batters with attitude The signal's in, and my catcher's 'Fari Herut I got to risin on the mound, talkin at pen-point Retire the side, put on a jacket, ice my joints And body parts, world-wide, Evidence is known Have you fallin out the batter's box when curves are thrown Precise angles, I disect the strategy, no cost And just 'cause I choose to wander don't mean I'm lost I got the button-up jersrey, Dilated written in cursive I spill my heart to wax and put the in the open Three men against nine players, yo, that shit's unheard of Plus my eyes are open in takin' folks One cat got on base but he didn't learn his lesson I faked to first and picked him off at second Patience is a virtue, yo he couldn't understand That cat's out, time waits for no man Bust it Don't front This where the big hits are guaranteed This ain't no minor league affair this here the major leagues You in the batter's box ready for combat (what?) But when you step up to the plate It be the large caliber rhyme Ask yourself why try Microphone slash Rasco Defari Evidence, rhymes that set the precedence Straight out the box, MCs to bobby sox Major league, set to intrigue you small fee Nothin' to the game, we doused them small flames Take names Head for the fence, we track prints Track down the scent, then fold your whole tent Stay bent The illest on rhymes at all times Call your bullpen, Rasco just pulled into the lot Be strikin em out with one shot While your pitch be hittin the plate at one spot Down the pipe The major lieutenant that earn stripes Bet strap in, cadet to captain Stand up, better yet, put them hands up And watch the triple threat come fuck them plans up Smack niggas, with lyrical gems that sayin hymns Niggas still rappin 'bout clothes and car rims Man debted But dishin that corn, you get spreaded We runnin on supreme, you runnin on unleaded Couldn't match, you out the line-up, you been scratched Sittin on the bench, not feelin you one pinch, in the trench We loadin the guns to stack funds Went from stackin ones to stackin them one-huns Scored runs The hotter the bat, the more fat It's Dilated, Ras, 'Fari, we bust back Like that, like that, like that, like that Like that y'all, like that, check it Yo this that where the big hits are guaranteed This ain't no minor league affair this here the major leagues You in the batter's box ready for combat (what?) But when you step up to the plate better bring it fat Don't front |
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(feat. Planet Asia)
[Phife] "So step up if you wanna keep your rep up" [Planet Asia] Focus hard, Yard intellect slang World wide recognition with the picture in frame Vocalist, quantum perfect movin motions melodic Over oceans, overdosing off the cultures of product Toastin this cut, react jazz cats be slappin glasses Surrender to the method, yes I've kept it Yard Massive status Avalanche rap clientele from ambushing We move quick wit new shit to get the fans pushin From out the dynast of the School Yard camp We start gettin the microphone just like two large amps I'm tellin it, whenever I'm posted with endo to blow I aim at domes like Double-Oh-Seven, Nintendo 64 James Bond style, secret agent calm bomb threat Cali merchant, methodist keepin your pom-pom's set Up in the air like that, this be that black entertainment And now I got you flashin back on raps that I came with [Chorus] [M.A.R.S.: x2] "Wit swollen pockets, we gon' take it back home" "So step up if you wanna keep your rep up" [Rasco] It be me, Ras the mic grand imperial Be killin these MC's that pump wack material Bullshittin, bout to get their heads splitten, for real When I'm rollin ten steps head to field I the super dope master quotes Hit ya'll in throat, be lyrics of wide scope Go tell your friends, demand the vote These niggas playahatin, can't make Ras to go Now, we show em how we elevate From the gate, Asia plus the Ras, we frustrate Fantasize, we bringin it live, check the size Of brothers enterprise, we breakin out the sides Eyes scan the room, but this two man platoon All set to meet em at high noon Does set the blaze, lethal like the sun rays Six days a week to Sunday's now [Chorus x2] [Planet Asia] From out the dynast of the Massive ranks the Yard mad sarge Eight bars of ever-ready for you wannabe stars Lettin niggas know my purpose when it comes to the vibe Victoriously crushin careers that's three times my size Ceremonial Master, wit the Soul Father Ras Causin colonial disaster, lettin history pass Through the trash era, stages of the game gotta change So Father Rasco, let these niggas know what's on your brain [Rasco] We smash ya'll, for bringin that small off the wall Idle chit-chat, we peelin yo' wig back Feel that, you got rhymes nigga, where your deal at? Killin folks, then where's your steel at? Perpetratin, like you the man, only got five fans Test me and get smacked with five hands Obey all commands, I execute the plans While ya'll still thinkin of ways to stack grands Five hundred thou, no sweat of the brow The shit they did then, I'm doin it right now BLOAW, bustin these shots off the top The runaway train expressin it non-stop Niggas ride coach, slow down for the approach And bring a long toast for gettin yo' eggs poached Even off the tone, top notch off the dome It's me and Planet As, we takin it back home [Chorus x2] |
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