Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Live At The Barbeque, artist - Main Source. Date of issue: 11.11.1991
Song language: English
Live At The Barbeque |
| And that’s all! |
| Street’s disciple |
| my raps are trifle |
| I shoot slugs from my brain just like a rifle |
| Stampede the stage, I leave the microphone split |
| Play Mr. Tuffy while I’m |
| on some Pretty Tone shit |
| Verbal assassin |
| my architect pleases |
| When I was 12, I went to Hell for snuffin' Jesus |
| Nasty Nas is a rebel to America |
| Police murderer, I’m causin' hysteria |
| My troops roll up with a strange force |
| I was trapped in a cage and let out by the Main Source |
| Swimmin' in women like a lifeguard |
| Put on a bulletproof, nigga, I strike hard |
| Kidnap the president’s wife without a plan |
| And hangin' niggas like the Ku Klux Klan |
| I melt mics 'til the soundwave’s over |
| Before steppin' to me, you’d rather step to Jehovah |
| Slammin' MC’s on cement |
| 'Cause verbally, I’m iller than a AIDS patient |
| I move swift and uplift your mind |
| Shoot the gift when I riff and rhyme |
| Rappin' sniper |
| speakin' real words |
| My thoughts react like Steven Spielberg’s |
| Poetry attacks, paragraphs punch hard |
| My brain is insane, I’m out to lunch, God |
| Science is dropped, my raps are toxic |
| My voice box locks and excels like a rocket |
| Fatal is merciful and they curse me |
| When I grip the mic, I show no mercy |
| I got heart, I rip the party apart |
| From the seams and hem 'em up like bell-bottom jeans |
| But you get done, |
| you get blues like 501 |
| Brothers are live but I bet ya I’m liver, son |
| So let me get upon the scene and redeem the dream of a team |
| And knock 'em out like Mitch Green |
| Smoke some Thai weed, flow at a high speed |
| Rap on off-breaks, stompin' like Northlakes |
| 'Cause I’m livin' larger than the founders of Fendi |
| An Asiatic brother that many rappers envy |
| So round up your crew and entourage |
| And let the God Merciful just take charge |
| Some of them said (Said what!?) that the Ak' should quit |
| But I don’t sweat it, 'cause I’m too big for that small shit |
| Like pigs when it comes to a showdown |
| Huff and puff but the Ak' won’t get blown down |
| 'Cause I come strong, rather than come at all and not be ready |
| That’s what separates me from the petty |
| MC’s gas themselves by drinkin' too much Getty |
| And get torn the fuck up like confetti |
| I’m rich and thick in lyrics like Aunt Jemima |
| It doesn’t take Keenan Ivory Wayans to know that I’mma |
| Get you, sucker, |
| if you bite like a piranha |
| So save them preschool rhymes for the kids at Wonderama |
| Point blank, period, with no comma |
| Rhymes so dangerous, call for the homicide |
| 'Cause I knock 'em dead even when I’m at my worst |
| The only future that lies ahead of them is the lights from the hearse |
| Got game like a crackhead |
| but don’t be misled |
| I keep rappers on lock like a dread |
| Knots in the head from the words that I said |
| So get a shovel and dig your grave 'cause the shit you talk is dead |
| I grab up girls like jacks |
| Add 'em on like tax, and I’m over like |
| Hot Trax |
| As far as brothers are concerned, I pressure cook 'em from start |
| To finish, I diminish like a Cuisinart |
| Secondly, I’m sick of critics who’s neckin' me |
| (Oooh, he got an afro!) |
| Yo, but I got dough |
| Why’s my name the Large Professor? |
| 'Cause I milked your cow; |
| in other words, I hit your heifer |
| Don’t talk about how you can break Rambo |
| That’s just a bunch of mamba-ja-hambo |
| Propaganda, save it for Savanda |
| Joe and Amanda, Zach and Alexandra |
| Don’t let the folks around your way puff your head |
| 'Cause you’ll be the owner of a hospital bed |
| I’ll kick fire out yo' ass so fast |
| You’ll be as crispy as my man Bill Blass |