'98 Freestyle
One-two, one-two
Kinda tired
Big L, 'bout ta get into some shit
(Uh) a'ight check it out
Yo, fuck all the glamours and glitz, I plan to get rich
I'm from New York and never was a fan of the Knicks
And I'm all about expandin' my chips
You mad 'cause I was in the van with your bitch
With both hands on her tits
Corleone hold the throne, that you know in your heart
I got style plus the way that I be flowin' is sharp
A while back, I used to hustle, sellin' blow in the park
Countin' G stacks and rockin' ice that glow in the dark
Forever hottie huntin'
Trigger temper, I'm quick to body somethin'
You lookin' at me like I'm probably frontin'
I fuck around and throw three in your chest and flee to my rest
I'm older and smarter, this is me at my best
I stopped hangin' around y'all
'Cause niggas like you be prayin' on my downfall
Hopin' I flop, hopin' I stop
You probably even hope I get locked
Or be on the street corner with a pipe, smokin' the rock
I got more riches than you, fuck more bitches than you
Only thing I haven't got is more stitches than you
Fuckin' punk, you ain't a leader, what? Nobody followed you
You was never shit, your mother should've swallowed you
You on some tag-along, flunky yes-man shit
Do me a favor, please get off the next man dick
And if you think I can't fuck with whoever, put your money up
Put your jewels up, no, fuck it, put your honey up
Put your raggedy house up, nigga, or shut your mouth up
Before I buck lead and make a lot of bloodshed
Turn your tux red, I'm far from broke, got enough bread
And mad hoes, ask Beavis, I get nothin' Butthead
My game is vicious and cruel, fuckin' chicks is a rule
If my girl think I'm loyal, then that bitch is a fool
How come you can listen to my first album
And tell where a lot of niggas got they whole style from?
So what you actin' for?
You ain't half as raw, you need to practice more
Somebody tell this nigga somethin', 'fore I crack his jaw
You runnin' with boys, I'm runnin' with men
I'ma be rippin' the mics until I'm a hundred-and-ten
Have y'all niggas like, "Dammit, this nigga done done it again"
I throw slugs at idiots, no love for city cops
I sport a pretty watch, eight-hundred and fifty rocks
I'm makin' wonderful figures
I don't fuck with none of you niggas
I might pull out this gun on your niggas
And rob every last one of you niggas
Yeah, what
Kinda tired
Big L, 'bout ta get into some shit
(Uh) a'ight check it out
Yo, fuck all the glamours and glitz, I plan to get rich
I'm from New York and never was a fan of the Knicks
And I'm all about expandin' my chips
You mad 'cause I was in the van with your bitch
With both hands on her tits
Corleone hold the throne, that you know in your heart
I got style plus the way that I be flowin' is sharp
A while back, I used to hustle, sellin' blow in the park
Countin' G stacks and rockin' ice that glow in the dark
Forever hottie huntin'
Trigger temper, I'm quick to body somethin'
You lookin' at me like I'm probably frontin'
I fuck around and throw three in your chest and flee to my rest
I'm older and smarter, this is me at my best
I stopped hangin' around y'all
'Cause niggas like you be prayin' on my downfall
Hopin' I flop, hopin' I stop
You probably even hope I get locked
Or be on the street corner with a pipe, smokin' the rock
I got more riches than you, fuck more bitches than you
Only thing I haven't got is more stitches than you
Fuckin' punk, you ain't a leader, what? Nobody followed you
You was never shit, your mother should've swallowed you
You on some tag-along, flunky yes-man shit
Do me a favor, please get off the next man dick
And if you think I can't fuck with whoever, put your money up
Put your jewels up, no, fuck it, put your honey up
Put your raggedy house up, nigga, or shut your mouth up
Before I buck lead and make a lot of bloodshed
Turn your tux red, I'm far from broke, got enough bread
And mad hoes, ask Beavis, I get nothin' Butthead
My game is vicious and cruel, fuckin' chicks is a rule
If my girl think I'm loyal, then that bitch is a fool
How come you can listen to my first album
And tell where a lot of niggas got they whole style from?
So what you actin' for?
You ain't half as raw, you need to practice more
Somebody tell this nigga somethin', 'fore I crack his jaw
You runnin' with boys, I'm runnin' with men
I'ma be rippin' the mics until I'm a hundred-and-ten
Have y'all niggas like, "Dammit, this nigga done done it again"
I throw slugs at idiots, no love for city cops
I sport a pretty watch, eight-hundred and fifty rocks
I'm makin' wonderful figures
I don't fuck with none of you niggas
I might pull out this gun on your niggas
And rob every last one of you niggas
Yeah, what
Credits
Writer(s): Lamont Coleman
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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