Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Major League, artist - Rasco.
Date of issue: 31.12.2010
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Major League |
Don’t front |
So many claim the fame, but never see the day |
When lyrically they could even run, in the Triple-A's |
This here’s the major leagues, where big hits are guaranteed |
The Ken Griffey turbo 850 professional MC |
One more time that cat Defari |
With a sting operation so blatant we call it franchise |
Man sign, independent on some enterprise |
It’s time to shoot straight, innovate, and make the world realize |
That mics get ripped, and spots get blown |
I strive to be a Golden State all-time great, like J-Ro |
I gets burned when the Technics turn on mix shows and mix tapes |
That you hear when a car turns left on the street |
You know that shit that make you bounce |
'Nuf respect to Rasco and Evidence |
Yo hold it down on the mound |
I’m not like Hideo, don’t got it Nomo |
I’m more like Randy Johnson, guaranteed heat for sure |
Yo this that way where the big hits are guaranteed |
This ain’t no minor league affair this here the major leagues |
You in the batter’s box ready for combat (what?) |
But when you step up to the plate better bring it fat |
I throw spitballs and sliders, and hit batters with attitude |
The signal’s in, and my catcher’s 'Fari Herut |
I got to risin on the mound, talkin at pen-point |
Retire the side, put on a jacket, ice my joints |
And body parts, world-wide, Evidence is known |
Have you fallin out the batter’s box when curves are thrown |
Precise angles, I disect the strategy, no cost |
And just cause I choose to wander don’t mean I’m lost |
I got the button-up jersrey, Dilated written in cursive |
I spill my heart to wax and put the knocker in the open |
Three men against nine players, yo, that shit’s unheard of |
Plus my eyes are open in takin' folks scope |
One cat got on base but he didn’t learn his lesson |
I faked to first and picked him off at second |
Patience is a virtue, yo he couldn’t understand |
That cat’s out, time waits for no man |
Bust it |
Don’t front |
This where the big hits are guaranteed |
This ain’t no minor league affair this here the major leagues |
You in the batter’s box ready for combat (what?) |
But when you step up to the plate |
It be the large caliber rhyme |
Ask yourself why try |
Microphone slash Rasco Defari |
Evidence, rhymes that set the precedence |
Straight out the box, MCs to bobby sox |
Major league, set to intrigue you small fee |
Nothin' to the game, we doused them small flames |
Take names |
Head for the fence, we track prints |
Track down the scent, then fold your whole tent |
Stay bent |
The illest on rhymes at all times |
Call your bullpen, Rasco just pulled into the lot |
Be strikin em out with one shot |
While your pitch be hittin the plate at one spot |
Down the pipe |
The major lieutenant that earn stripes |
Bet strap in, cadet to captain |
Stand up, better yet, put them hands up |
And watch the triple threat come fuck them plans up |
Smack niggas, with lyrical gems that sayin hymns |
Niggas still rappin 'bout clothes and car rims |
Man debted |
But dishin that corn, you get spreaded |
We runnin on supreme, you runnin on unleaded |
Couldn’t match, you out the line-up, you been scratched |
Sittin on the bench, not feelin you one pinch, in the trench |
We loadin the guns to stack funds |
Went from stackin ones to stackin them one-huns |
Scored runs |
The hotter the bat, the more fat |
It’s Dilated, Ras, 'Fari, we bust back |
Like that, like that, like that, like that |
Like that y’all, like that, check it |
Yo this that way where the big hits are guaranteed |
This ain’t no minor league affair this here the major leagues |
You in the batter’s box ready for combat (what?) |
But when you step up to the plate better bring it fat |
Don’t front |