Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Actual Facts, artist - Lord Finesse.
Date of issue: 06.02.1996
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Actual Facts |
When you say the name X, think synonymous wit fame |
Only draw love off the mention of my name |
I got a rhyme or two left then I’m a blend to the side |
Go out on top like Jim Brown at his peak, I get wreck like ery week |
Get my freak on, who dares to speak on My armed forces recon, penatrating like decon |
Guerilla tactics, stage theatrics |
He’s laying on the mattress |
I’m hiking up the black dress |
Finesse called on me to bless |
I pulled the S off my varsity sweater, fine tuned to the letter |
So let’s make these stacks and max, relax, be waxed |
The tracks receive faxs wit my picture in a cowboy hat |
Now top that, yo, kid, top that |
Kid got blown away at exactly where you’re sitting |
Just the other day but nobody’s admitting |
To the crime, I’m a MC not a MD |
The best in history or maybe one of the top 3 |
Says myself, no diggedy |
(Large Professor) |
I be synonymous to king, fling niggaz to the mat |
Like an acrobat, flipping the mental ass whipping |
is served when I un-nerved another wack Jack imposter |
Trying to fraud, you gots to get the fuk down wit the Lord |
Finesse, whether you think you’re pimp status or the best |
Mad crazy or stupid, find a hot beat and loop it For what it’s worth, I’ve been a hip-hopper from birth |
Try to disrespect and get your ass played up like a smurf |
I’m running over the track, type of nigga to stack |
One million, hit my moms, then fuk it, make a trillion |
To start, showing the world who’s the man wit the heart |
That’s about to blast off on these kids that’s mad soft |
Don’t fuk wit Large Professor or you get your ass mauled |
So ah, say no more, them niggaz that’s the raw |
Large Profess, Lord Finesse and Dat X for the tour |
Grand Puba, who’s probably coming back from Aruba |
Wit the skill to buildI’m saying peace, you niggaz, chill |
(Grand Puba) |
Dig it, I be that nigga wit the creamy ass rhyme flow |
My shit’s so hot, I’ll burn the ass of an Eskimo |
I’m saying though, it be the Grand flipping flam |
Giving love to my fans and you know this man |
My composition leaves competition wishing |
They could be in my postition cuz I did it wit no ass kissing |
I’ll be there like Michael Jackson and you don’t stop |
Until you get enuff and I’ll be damn if my nose drop |
I speak Actual facts on how I feel |
Don’t worry baby, wit Puba, there’s no waiting just to exhale |
I bag dimes like Jada, step through playa haters |
Keep niggaz moving like a fuking escalator |
Because it’s poetry in motion |
Pube keep it smooth like lotion, keeping MC’s lost like Billy Ocean |
Dig what I’m sayingI be a buck 85 on the weigh-in |
(Lord Finesse) |
It goes dip dip diving, check who you sizing |
It’s the wize civilizing, pockets stll rising |
When I drop it, i’m futuristic like Fiber Optic |
Didn’t buy my album, you played yourself, should of copped it Nuthin could beat my elite rhymes throwing your hands kid |
That better be a peace sign |
You don’t want it, that’s my steelo, how we on it |
When we do our thing, niggaz spread the word like informants |
But still advancing, skills enhancing |
We got up on a shooken offbeat like white people dancing |
We’re too bugged, true thugs |
Quick to get in that ass in ways that homo’s wouldn’t approve of |
I’m not yapping, just rapping |
Don’t care if you’re gold or platinum, don’t think it can’t happen |
Whether wit a beat or acapella, it’s the mic Rockafella |
Strictly out for the mozarella |
Fuk guns and toolies, we don’t betray movies |
It’s yours truely that’s smoothly, still sounds groovy |
You can’t do me or dis me, don’t try to get wit me My style is tricky like spelling Mississippi |
Strictly, come and get me, if you can flip me If this flow was whisley, I have you muthafukas tipsy |
The ghetto type playas that caters |
Famous to you spectators, the rhyme sayers, catch you later |