Refrain: ("I'm the calm one, but my crew is sorta sick")
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Yeah, Big L is the first to represent.
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Verse One: Big L
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Yo, on the mic is Big L, that brother who kicks flavs, God.
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Known for sendin' garbage MCs to the graveyard.
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I pack a gat, not a slingshot;
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step to this and get an ass-whoopin' like Rodney King got.
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Or get beat to your death like Cochise,
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my laws is no peace, fuck the police.
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MCs get braggin' about cash they collect,
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but them chumps is like Ray Charles,
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cuz they ain't seen no money yet.
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Trash rappers I tax and spark,
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I be wettin' niggas up like water rides at Action Park.
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A nigga stuck me, and that ain't funny son,
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so I got money gun, they wet him and his honey bun.
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Cuz phony faggots I froze, it's a fact,
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I flip fast on foes with fabulous fantastic flows.
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L is the rebel type, I'm rough as a metal pipe,
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fuck a Benz, cuz I could pull skins on a pedal-bike.
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Props, I got the most, no MC comes close,coast-to-coast,
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shows I host, foes I roast, adios, I'm ghost...
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Refrain
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Verse Two: D'Shawn
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Yo, street ? in New York is a place this nigga stands
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with a machete I'm a crazy Eddie Scissorhands.
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Born with such a thirst to kill,
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I can tap 200 quarters from a $50 bill.
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Cuttin' bitch-niggas down with a hundred pound axe
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like I was raised by psycho-crazed lumberjacks.
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So in a battle I be stabbin',choppin' MCs like trees,
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piece-by-piece buildin' cabins.
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I'm a maniac magician, abra cadabra,
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makin' pain appear cuz I'm-a grab arusty chain to make a noose
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to choke your ass so hard, you're spittin' fuckin' Adam's Apple juice.
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So come check the magic show by Deshawn,
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and witness the way I put you to death with a magic wand.
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Turnin' your home to a casket,
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turn your wife into a widow and your son into a bastard.
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Cuz I love to keep MCs sufferin',
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beggin' for big, heavy bags of Bufferin.
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Baseball battin' 'em, splattin' 'em,
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so many homicide records, my cases went platinum.
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D'Shawn is nice;
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known for givin' out head cracks without touchin' dice.
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Just pain and punishment from the Boogie Down Bronxter...
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D'Shawn the maniac street mobster.
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Refrain
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Verse Three: Lord Finesse
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It's the F-I-N-E-double-S-E,
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don't play or stress me
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Cause that shit don't impress me
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I make papes off the shit I create, and then dictate
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So get your motherfuckin shit straight
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I got skills and I'm hard to kill,
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So y'all bitch-ass rappes better chill and just guard your grill
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You grab a mic and always get hype
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Talkin bout fuckin niggaz up
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When you can bearly beat your dick right
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So stop ridin my dilznick
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cause I can still kick the ill shit on the motherfuckin real tip
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Hit like Foreman when I'm brawlin
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Those who think I'm fallin, I'll play your monkey-ass like a organ
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I got crazy niggas in the city noid
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Got mad bitches, but it's not cause I'm a motherfuckin pretty-boy
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I'm ruthless, I'm not on that goody-goody tip
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That shit played out with that Beat Street/Electric Boogie shit
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I'll stomp any rapper that you ???
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if they ass is weak, they better chill and grab a seat
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And go 'head with they master plan
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Stevie Wonder probably see me 'fore half you rappers can
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You can't hang and you're fallin fast
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You rappers that's trash better dash and start haulin ass
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Cuz I'm out to rag shit
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Fuck up a show, collect my dough
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and step off with a bad bitch
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Spectators always have the best time
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When they come to a show and hear a funky Lord Finesse rhyme
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I'm out to get bigger, lounge and make rich figures
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You'll never catch Finesse associating with bitch niggaz
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I work overtime when it's time to go for mine
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Crab-ass rappers, don't even front cuz ya'll know the time
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So it's time for me to step
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Peace to Showbiz and AG and I'm off to the left
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Refrain
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Verse Four: AG
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Check-check-check it. A to the G is gonna wreck it.
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On stage, on my record, so nigga don't forget it.
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I'm the man. The one-man-band is on my right hand.
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(His name is Show nitwit, so get wit the program)
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I get a hit from my buddha blessed.
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Turn my hat to the back, now let's see who's the best.
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I like my pocket |