Big L Freestyle Remix by Stretch and Bobbito Lyrics
[Big L]
Yo, I got slugs for snitches, no love for bitches
Puttin' thugs in ditches when my trigger finger itches
I got a rep that make police jet, known to get a priest wet
I never beg for pussy like Keith Sweat
Is Big L slow? Hell no!
Bitches get fucked on the roof when I ain't got no hotel dough;
I'm known for yokin' Jacks
And beatin' them with smokin' gats
Leavin' token Blacks with broken backs and open caps
So with that bullshit, step to the rear, son
The last thing you want with Big L is a fair one
'Cause in a street brawl I strike men like lightnin'
You seen what happened in my last fight, friend? Aight then
I beat kids with lead pipes, I leave trails of dead mic's
Where I'm from, niggas' jewels get ran like red lights
Old folks get mugged and raided, crimes are drug-related
And we live by the street rules that thugs created
Clowns get smoked about a thousand folks
Sellin' pounds of coke
Front in this town and get a TEC stuck down your throat
I'm tellin' you shit is about to get drastic soon
I'm quick to blast a goon
And break a motherfucker like a plastic spoon
I got the looks that make your hottie stare
I keep a shotty near
It's that nigga with knotty hair who Gotti fear
Tracks I'm known to roast until the microphone is ghost
Props I own the most, I'm leavin' niggas comatose
Front and get your brain pinched
Big L will have your whole gang lynched
I started smokin' dust and been insane since
This rap shit was a great gift
The other night some snake riffed, and got a hot lead facelift
All through high school I had braids, I kept mad blades
Stabbin' teachers to death that gave me bad grades
I cook the mic like a beef steak, 'cause my technique's great
And I'm the nigga police hate in each state
'Cause I'm the neighborhood lamper
Punk brother vamper; fuck around
You'll find my silk boxers in your mother's hamper
Cops drop when my Glock makes a pow sound
I'm from a wild town
You know my style, clown, so bow down!
Word up (say what?)
'95 style (yeah)
[Big L]
Ayo, my crew be deliverin' hot lead when gats are clenched
Rappers I jack and lynch; nobody can fuck with the way
I be killin' them shits in rap events
Big L is the nigga you expect
To catch wreck on any cassette deck
I'm so ahead of my time my parents haven't met yet
I'm feelin' like Billy Bathgate
My rap style is past great
I love to fuck a bitch from the back and watch her ass shake
I probably got your mommy strung
Niggas hear me and take more notes than Connie Chung
My clan plans to get Giuliani hung
Never had a gassed head, got loot 'cause I stash bread
Try to tax and I'ma beat your faggot-ass half-dead
I stomp white cops 'til they life stops, for a low price, hops
'Cause my blood is colder than an ice box
On 1-3-9 you don't want a block war
'Cause my crew'll kill a nigga from the lobby to the top floor
And every time my MAC-11 bucks
I'm killin' at least seven ducks
I never was a follower of Reverend Butts
The bitch type I dislike, I'm rougher than a fist fight
All chicks ain't shit, ain't no such thing as Miss Right
So we can never be a couple, hun
Fuck love! All I got for hoes is hard dick and bubble gum
And clown MC's I be attackin' quick
I'm on some rappin' shit and some car-jackin' shit
I ran up on this nigga name Mac in a black Ac'
And put the gat to his cap, click-clack
Sorry, Jack, but get up out of that!
My .38 works great, so make a mistake and hesitate
I can't wait to demonstrate this nickel plate
He didn't listen to what I was speakin'; he started reachin'
So I left him sleepin' with his temple leakin'
Yo, I got slugs for snitches, no love for bitches
Puttin' thugs in ditches when my trigger finger itches
I got a rep that make police jet, known to get a priest wet
I never beg for pussy like Keith Sweat
Is Big L slow? Hell no!
Bitches get fucked on the roof when I ain't got no hotel dough;
I'm known for yokin' Jacks
And beatin' them with smokin' gats
Leavin' token Blacks with broken backs and open caps
So with that bullshit, step to the rear, son
The last thing you want with Big L is a fair one
'Cause in a street brawl I strike men like lightnin'
You seen what happened in my last fight, friend? Aight then
I beat kids with lead pipes, I leave trails of dead mic's
Where I'm from, niggas' jewels get ran like red lights
Old folks get mugged and raided, crimes are drug-related
And we live by the street rules that thugs created
Clowns get smoked about a thousand folks
Sellin' pounds of coke
Front in this town and get a TEC stuck down your throat
I'm tellin' you shit is about to get drastic soon
I'm quick to blast a goon
And break a motherfucker like a plastic spoon
I got the looks that make your hottie stare
I keep a shotty near
It's that nigga with knotty hair who Gotti fear
Tracks I'm known to roast until the microphone is ghost
Props I own the most, I'm leavin' niggas comatose
Front and get your brain pinched
Big L will have your whole gang lynched
I started smokin' dust and been insane since
This rap shit was a great gift
The other night some snake riffed, and got a hot lead facelift
All through high school I had braids, I kept mad blades
Stabbin' teachers to death that gave me bad grades
I cook the mic like a beef steak, 'cause my technique's great
And I'm the nigga police hate in each state
'Cause I'm the neighborhood lamper
Punk brother vamper; fuck around
You'll find my silk boxers in your mother's hamper
Cops drop when my Glock makes a pow sound
I'm from a wild town
You know my style, clown, so bow down!
Word up (say what?)
'95 style (yeah)
[Big L]
Ayo, my crew be deliverin' hot lead when gats are clenched
Rappers I jack and lynch; nobody can fuck with the way
I be killin' them shits in rap events
Big L is the nigga you expect
To catch wreck on any cassette deck
I'm so ahead of my time my parents haven't met yet
I'm feelin' like Billy Bathgate
My rap style is past great
I love to fuck a bitch from the back and watch her ass shake
I probably got your mommy strung
Niggas hear me and take more notes than Connie Chung
My clan plans to get Giuliani hung
Never had a gassed head, got loot 'cause I stash bread
Try to tax and I'ma beat your faggot-ass half-dead
I stomp white cops 'til they life stops, for a low price, hops
'Cause my blood is colder than an ice box
On 1-3-9 you don't want a block war
'Cause my crew'll kill a nigga from the lobby to the top floor
And every time my MAC-11 bucks
I'm killin' at least seven ducks
I never was a follower of Reverend Butts
The bitch type I dislike, I'm rougher than a fist fight
All chicks ain't shit, ain't no such thing as Miss Right
So we can never be a couple, hun
Fuck love! All I got for hoes is hard dick and bubble gum
And clown MC's I be attackin' quick
I'm on some rappin' shit and some car-jackin' shit
I ran up on this nigga name Mac in a black Ac'
And put the gat to his cap, click-clack
Sorry, Jack, but get up out of that!
My .38 works great, so make a mistake and hesitate
I can't wait to demonstrate this nickel plate
He didn't listen to what I was speakin'; he started reachin'
So I left him sleepin' with his temple leakin'