Live At The Barbeque

[Produced by Large Professor] [Intro] Ohhhh! Oh, oh, oh, oh! Check it out [Chorus] It's like that, y'all (That, y'all!), that, y'all (That, y'all!) That, y'all (That, y'all!), that, y'all (That, y'all!) That, y'all (That, y'all!), that, y'all (That, y'all!) And that's all! [Verse 1: Nas] 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 twelve, 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 Kidnapped 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' MCs 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 voicebox locks and excels like a rocket [Chorus] Ayo – it's like that, y'all (That, y'all!), that, y'all (That, y'all!) That, y'all (That, y'all!), that, y'all (That, y'all!) That, y'all (That, y'all!), that, y'all (That, y'all!) That's all! [Verse 2: Joe Fatal] 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'll get done, you get blues like 501 Brothers are live, but I bet you 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 Northface 'Cause I'm livin' larger than the founders of Fendi And Asiatic brothers that many rappers envy So round up your crew and entourage And let the God Merciful just take charge [Chorus] And yo – It's like that, y'all (That, y'all!), that, y'all (That, y'all!) That, y'all (That, y'all!), that, y'all (That, y'all!) That, y'all (That, y'all!), that, y'all (That, y'all!) And that's all! [Verse 3: Akinyele] 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 not come at all than not be ready That's what separates me from the petty MCs 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'ma— Get you, sucker, if you bite like a piranha So save them preschool rhymes for the kids on 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 [Chorus] Ayo – it's like that, y'all (That, y'all!), that, y'all (That, y'all!) That, y'all (That, y'all!), that, y'all (That, y'all!) That, y'all (That, y'all!), that, y'all (That, y'all!) And that's all! [Verse 4: Large Professor] 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 ("Ooh, 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 could 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 your ass so fast– You'll be as crispy as my man Bill Blass [Chorus] Ayo – it's like that, y'all (That, y'all!), that, y'all (That, y'all!) That, y'all (That, y'all!), that, y'all (That, y'all!) That, y'all (That, y'all!), that, y'all (That, y'all!) And that's all! It's like that that, y'all (That, y'all!), that, y'all (That, y'all!) That, y'all (That, y'all!), that, y'all (That, y'all!) Main Source! (That, y'all!), Main Source! (Main Source!) And that's all! It's like that, y'all (That, y'all!), that, y'all (That, y'all!) That, y'all (That, y'all!), that, y'all (That, y'all!) That, y'all (That, y'all!), that, y'all (That, y'all!) And that's all! It's like that, y'all (That, y'all!), that, y'all (That, y'all!) That, y'all (That, y'all!), that, y'all (That, y'all!) That, y'all (That, y'all!), that, y'all (That, y'all!) And that's all!