[Verse 3: Big L]
Ayo, my crew be deliverin' hot lead when gats are clenched
Rappers I jack and lynch; nobody can fukk with the way
I be killin' them shyts in rap events
Big L is the nikka 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 fukk a bytch from the back and watch her ass shake
I probly got your mommy strung
nikkas 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 fakkit-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 nikka 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 bytch type I dislike, I'm rougher than a fist fight
All chicks ain't shyt, ain't no such thing as Ms. Right
So we can never be a couple, hun
fukk love! All I got for hoes is hard dikk and bubble gum
And clown MC's I be attackin' quick
I'm on some rappin' shyt and some car-jackin' shyt
I ran up on this nikka 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'
this verse had a ridiculous amount of multis