| I be a Harlem World party pleaser
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| You might find me on 1−3-9 sippin a Bacardi Breezer
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| That’s where I rest at, killin tracks is what I’m best at
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| Jealousy, I expect that, I don’t stress that
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| I want a cutie with some tight jeans on, that I can scheme on
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| Treat her nice, take her out and trick some cream on
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| TV screens all over the U.S. I’m seen on
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| It ain’t all about me, I’m tryin to put my team on
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| Because it’s good to have a crew to lean on, mics I fiend on
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| You think you can do it like this? |
| Dream on
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| I’ma, chrome my rims and ice my chain
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| Fly clothes and pretty hoes is the price of fame
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| Yo; |
| you know the game plan
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| C-Town, that’s my main man
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| We never bring luggage, we go shoppin when the plane lands
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| Still run with the same clan, used to be a Kane fan
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| Everything I rock is name brand
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| L’ll make ya dame swallow
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| Your ice don’t shine and your chain hollow
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| While you front in clubs for hours with the same bottle
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| Takin midget sips, I run with the richest cliques
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| Tap the thickest chicks, plus drop the slickest hits
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| You know nuttin about L, so don’t doubt L
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| What’s this motherfuckin rap game without L?
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| Yo, that’s like jewels without ice
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| That’s like china without rice
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| Or the Holy Bible without Christ
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| Or the Bulls without Mike
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| Or crackheads without pipes
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| The Village without dykes
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| Or hockey games without fights
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| Don’t touch the mic if you unable to spit
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| Flamboyant is the label I’m with
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| Big L!
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| Y’all know the name
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| He’s still here
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| Ha ha, youse a funny nigga
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| Play this
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| Play this
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| Big L!
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| Y’all know the name
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| He’s still here
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| My nigga Big L!
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| I’m straight loco, to hell with you and your broke ho
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| You ain’t a big dog, you more like Toto, you got no dough
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| I smoke 'dro mixed with cocoa, strong as bolo
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| I pack a fo'-fo', platinum ro-ro
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| Anti-homo, that’s a no-no so fuck po'-po'
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| I push the seven-fo'-oh and not the Volvo
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| C-Town push the six-oh-oh, I’m with a bitch on dolo
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| Chips from here to Acapulco
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| While y’all buck for legs I, buck for heads
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| I even buck celebs, nigga fuck the feds
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| I stay sweatin out a bitch perm
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| I love it when a girl ass is fat and they tits firm
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| I take all the dough my chicks earn
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| I watched Corleone do it, now it’s Chris turn
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| Act illy, get smacked silly with the mac-milli
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| You see me on MTV and Rap City
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| Keep frontin, I’mma step out, mask on with the tec out
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| Squeeze shots and make you check out
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| Big L!
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| Y’all know the name
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| He’s still here
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| Big L!
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| My underground niggas, y’all can shine with me
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| Got my own label now, so y’all can sign with me
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| Y’all can take me from the bottom and climb with me
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| That’s fine with me, that’s how it was designed to be
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| I be that young teen with DUMB cream
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| I refuse to be unheard or unseen, I shine like the sunbeam
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| All you niggas better come clean, before my gun scream
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| Rap’s a fun thing, only roll with one team
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| Flamboyant Entertainment, that’s who I came with
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| I pack a nine and once I aim it, I got to flame it
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| Push a blue eight, got props from here to Kuwait
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| And while your crew hate, you hear me on Big L new tape
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| They call me C-Town, I snatch mics like a rebound
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| Pack a three-pound, that’s my prerog' like B. Brown
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| I rip shows in large arenas, like the Garden or Meadowlands
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| Got nuttin but love for all my ghetto fans
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| On 1−3-9 and Lenox eyes get shut
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| The «Danger Zone» is where pies get cut, where all the guys get stuck
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| Try to front we gon' size you up
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| Like Corleone’ll grab the chrome and throw five in your gut
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| Aiyyo, gats we bust (backs we crush)
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| Only hot tracks we lust (crazy stacks we clutch)
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| And we need plaques to touch (that say platinum plus)
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| Cause half of you niggas that’s rappin now (is wack to us)
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| Big L!
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| Y’all know the name
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| He’s still here
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| Y’all thought this was over with?
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| This ain’t over with. |