Downtown Swinga

[Verse 1: Billy Danze]

You niggas fakin'

I'm not your regular rap singer

A bell ringer, yeah, a DOWNTOWN SWINGA'

And if I got to use my pistol to dismiss you herbs

With something to prove

Kid I ain't got nothing to lose

It's Billy Danze, holding up the slack

So jump if you want chump, cause I bust caps

CLACK CLACK! Salute to all my CD's

Hill figga' nigga drink brew and puff weed

Yeah we like it raw, plus we keep it real

The B-I-Double L-Y, and what you feel?

That I will flip the script and fled from the scene

I'm still in the 'ville, I'm still with my home team

Coming through with the crew, you can't accept it

From CROOKLYN! Home where it's definitely hectic

Before rapping I was capping, 1-7-1-8 gun slinger

Bill, a Downtown Swinga'

[Verse 2: Lil' Fame]

It's 1994 motherfuckers gets slayed

And my freestyles are no longer freestyles

Cause now I'm getting paid

I be the same Lil' Fame, ain't a damn thing changed

Except I smoke a $20 bag of weed a day

The downtown swinga', the ex-crack slinger

The ruckus bringer, the motherfucking bell ringer

Cause Lil' Fame ain't taking the bull

And when I die make sure you

Bury me with a cassette of Paid in Full

Kid, fuck all the flamma-lamma

I'm from the place where niggas be jumping up out of the bammas

Clapping niggas with the hammers

Enemies squeeze triggers, niggas get bumped off and dumped off

So I'm strapped to clap whenever the shit jump off

My missions is letting competition know the deal

Who we be (M.O.P REPRESENTING THE REAL)

You see it, I be it, and at the same time bring a

Ruckus sound for ground, it's the DOWNTOWN SWINGA'

*scratching M.O.P.*

[Verse 3: Lil' Fame & Billy Danze]

I'm known for wrecking microphones

M.O.P.'s the fattest as a matter of fact the maddest, the baddest

Herbs, you know the status

I do a bad job, a real job

You wouldn't be safe with God

Because I'm moving with the ill squad

Rappers come frontin', ain't nothing weak here

Ain't nothing sweet here, breaking comp down like a beach chair

*CLACK-CLACK, CLACK-CLACK, CLACK-CLACK, CLACK-CLACK, CLACK-CLACK, CLACK-CLACK

BLOCKA-BLOCKA, BLOCKA-BLOCKA, BLOCKA-BLOCKA, BLOCKA-BLOCKA, BLOCKA-BLOCKA, BLAOW*

The M.O.P. is going back, way before a herb got a gat

Whenever it was a crisis pulling heists kept us phat

The Brownvillians is illin', kid, it gets deep

That's why I tell motherfuckers to back and play me feet

We workin' with 9's, TECs, IMFs, MACs

Hammers with some power that will eat right through your back

Until the death, until the day I'm dead from flipping at someone's Nina

Chill, a DOWNTOWN SWINGA'

*scratching M.O.P.*

[Outro]:

Uh, check it out y'all

Downtown Swingas up in the house, representin' Brooklyn, Brownsville, word up, Southeast New York, Gang Starr, Bed-Stuy, no doubt, Brownsville, my man Biggie Smalls, hold me down...