This is another jam from F-o-x-x-x
|
Extra-special from the master, so let's jet
|
Speakers are pumpin, so it's hard to survive
|
But you need more than the cops just to save lives
|
Fasten your seatbelt, put on your crashing gear
|
Prepare yourself for the single, Foxxx is here
|
Lyrically fit like a mack man, comes equipped
|
With a guard and a style that won't flip
|
I step smooth, I never break stride
|
Keepin my man Kut Terror on the right side
|
You got up to get down and got slapped
|
Tryin to get paid with some old bullshit Saran (W)rap
|
I put the pressure on, touched a nerve
|
And now you're outside, just a bum on the curb
|
Used to be the mack daddy of the microphone
|
But you can't get nothin now cause (Freddie's home)
|
I don't care if you're worldwide and your pride
|
Won't allow you to play the side
|
Cause you're just a mere mortal, nothin extraordinary
|
Beats are under-average and your rhymes are ordinary
|
I'm hearin pros on their third LP's
|
Soundin like a bunch of schoolyard MC's
|
Man, I wish I'd catch a rapper tryin to play my style
|
Tellin people that we're cool with a grin and a smile
|
I mush his face, give him a smack
|
Then I slam him on his head and cut 'Foxxx' in his back
|
When I tell him all the real bad things that I heard
|
I'ma squash him like a dead bird
|
And make em feel it
|
|
( *DJ Kut Terrorist cuts up* )
|
(Can you feel it)
|
|
I make a rapper feel the pain, rap's my trade
|
To kick a rhyme ain't nothin, the key's to get paid
|
Before I made records you played me to the left
|
But now you bought my jam and you run it to death
|
Mellow rapper was smooth, remember the name
|
I used to wax chump rappers like it was a game
|
The rhymes that I've accumulated and lyrically created
|
I counted and amounted everyone I ever stated
|
Play second fiddle to rappers, I hate it
|
But I made it and made it to the top
|
Now I'm a lot of people's idol, it don't go to my head
|
Suckers can't be me, they rather be dead
|
Lotta people do what I do, say what I said
|
But then you always hear that people wanna be like Fred
|
I'm super nice with mines and I'm much sweeter
|
Than any Tom, Dick, Bob, Harry or Peter
|
Cause I'm a general generatin rhymes at a 1000 watts
|
Simultaneously handin out knots
|
I'm a Foxxx rappin with class, I whip up pantsless ass
|
Take his cash and sit back and laugh
|
And make him feel it
|
|
( *DJ Kut Terrorist cuts up* )
|
(Can you feel it)
|
|
Now I'm a one-man choir, takin rap higher
|
Ex-friends lost their minds, saw me on the flyer
|
And was buggin their eyes like neighborhood baseheads
|
Tryin to convince themselves, "That ain't Fred"
|
But my sound made you get down, you recognize my style
|
Started to smile and gave me a pound
|
When I broke it down ain't nobody wanna give me mines
|
I came through like a champ kickin behinds
|
Male and female, rappers as well
|
Know they just can't front cause their rhyme'll tell
|
Lotta rappers fall off but keep on tryin
|
But they'll never survive cause they're slowly dyin
|
Everybody has a posse and gases em up
|
Gets their braincells hype but that ain't enough
|
Cause when it's rough and the pressure's too much to bear
|
That's when you notice - the posse ain't there
|
Then you're all alone with your microphone
|
Freddie Foxxx is in the vicinity scopin your home
|
Take your moms and your pops and your kids as prisoners
|
And they become my brand new listeners
|
Freeze, sucker, thought I'd warned ya
|
The triple x got to drop on ya
|
Now you're layin on the sidewalk, I dare you to talk
|
If you can kick the right rhyme you can get up and walk
|
But if you don't, you'll be a pitiful sight
|
I'll take your heart and take your mic
|
And make you feel it
|
|
( *DJ Kut Terrorist cuts up* )
|
(Can you feel it)
|
|
I make you feel it
|
|
Kut Terrorist
|
(Can you feel it)
|
Listen
|
(Can you feel it)
|
Make em feel it
|
(Can you feel it)
|
|
-----------------
|
Make'em Feel It
|
Freddie Foxxx |