Audition

Yo. 1, 2, 1, 2. G'ahead, drop it Yeah 1, 2, 1, 2. I go by the name of the Big L. Know what I'm saying? Rock this for Rock N. Wills. Hardpack tape A'ight. Goes like this Ay yo. I've got the gift of gab To lift and grab The mic and recite hype rhymes That'll rip and rag And drag a fag MC Who likes to nag a lot And brag a lot Talking about the lyrics that he has are hot Step to this and get lit like a candle, troop Rhymes I hook up MCs I cook up Like Campbell's soup I throw rhymes like a quarterback Front and you'll get bust And dust And crushed Bum rushed And all of that Rhymes never sound wack Cause I've got them down packed For you the time is over So give me your crown Jack I get hype fast And MCs might last A minute with me Because their rhymes are light as A feather and mine are heavy like a big brick Rappers catch a fit quick When I start to kick shit And I record my battles on a camcorder So I can sit back and watch me manslaughter MCs that tried to get with me, hops That's why they all got taken out like a pizza box The crown is still mine Cause I kick ill rhymes A lot of rappers talk that murder shit and couldn't kill time Or beat eggs or whip cream I'm smoother than Vaseline And I'm a stone cold rapping fiend A lot of new jacks are coming out, but that's cool Cause I'm the principal of the new school A'ight. Check this out another joint like this A'ight. Check it out I control the microphone like a robot My lyrics are so hot Props: I've got a whole lot Cause with a pen and some paper this man made Rhymes: they're so damn great With flavor like pancakes I'm kicking rhymes like a game of kickball I'm rough like a brick wall MCs take a big fall For trying to get with this I'm too swift for this A microphone murderer form of magnificence A def rapper and also a swell one In a battle I cook MCs well done My hits are consecutive I'm a lyrical executive Bite my rhymes and I won't let you live So to be safe on the microphone homes Recite your own po'ms Or get your dome blown Or put in a boot camp L's the new champ I'm not the kind to go out like a Food Stamp I'm throwing rhymes like a pitcher throws a curveball And I'm a serve all Punks that try to brawl So stop sleeping on me Don't even dose hops Or I'm a heat you up And eat you up Like Stove Top Stuffing I'm bum rushing Shorts: I'm taking none My rhymes weigh a ton I'm not faking son You're the one whose faking, trying to be a duplicate Can't kick stupid shit Tell you the truth: you should quit Rapping Start snappin Cause all you is a joke Battle L and get smoked Yo. I over throw ya And have you screaming like a rollercoaster Guzzle you down like a small cup of Coca Cola I'm going though MCs like a ransack Stand back As I cruise Smooth Like an Amtrack Your rhymes are rusty G You can't fuck with me That's why you're hiding in protective custody L's not the one an' I keep MCs runnin' I hurt them like bunions Make them cry like onions I'm a lyrical fighter And I'm brighter Than Einstein Try to bite my lines And get a size nine Foot Put In your ass for being a crook Hit with a vital hook And get your title took Pass it to my man (Someone else) Ha ha. ??? got flavour Keep that flowing (Big L) I'm the microphone murderer And I'm known for busting mad caps I rip and rag tracks With rhymes that back slap Causing a nightmare I dont fight fair Niggas playing hard rocks hoping they might scare The B-I-G L, but im not to be fucked with You're trying to take your idol's Title You're on some buck shit I keep the women fiending for my smooth shit My rhymes are mad thick And yours are dead as a poo stick Fuck it Bus it I like it rough and rugged Your style is wick wack And played out like Nugget Bracelets Face this You can't erase this Escape this Break this Take this Cook or bake this I get so loose On beats that I produce Niggas be fronting crazy hard and got no juice They're softer than paper plates The lyrics I make is great A few sheets of loose leaf And an eraser mate Is all I need to write rhymes that are extra fly Mics I wreck and fry Rappers I petrify Pack a four fifth with eight shots With one you get popped And now your locked in a box Dead with no props I'm not joking. There's no time for snapping Niggas that be yapping I'm putting caps in So base up and sprayed up From the waist up You'll be found face up Cops can't trace up Fingerprints. Why? Because I leave no evidence Big L's the name, 139 is the residence Peace