A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z #

Kool G Rap

"Next Up"

[Intro: Marley Marl]
Gawd-DAYUM! I don't know what y'all been thinkin bout
But I think this right here is about to shut dem damn haters down!!

[Verse 1: Big Daddy Kane]
I'm from the streets that make n*ggas walk slow talk low
With white chalk-o, mi casa be siete uno ocho
Brooklyn motherf*cker, handle this
Pardon my Spanish and French (Brooklyn baby!)
Okay, I stay clever like Mayweather with lay leather
'Til your face sever, one of the greatest ever
Beyond ringing bells, my name's so demanding
sh*t, I got the swagger that'll leave Dakota Fanning
(That boy still standing!)
I hope you n*ggas over standing; I stay sucker-free
The next Kane up in the game, you ain't got enough to be
Your career last a week, that'll be luckily
f*ck wit me, the rap game'll need protective custody
(AHH!) I'm the same thug to be, surrounded with women
Gave the game True Religion before you found it in denim
Feel the Wrath of Kane and you cannot escape
The hip-hop version of The Ring
And you just watched the tape
(Next up!)

[Verse 2: Bun B]
And keep your eyes on the n*ggas in noir
Triple black in the candy painted car is the color of war
Me and my brother on par with nann n*gga
We trill workin the wheel, understand n*gga? (Understand?)
I smother and split a b*tch down to the tendon
High pressure, if you don't break your ass bendin
I'm way past endin in my series of warnin
You flex with me tonight playa you dead by the mornin (Woo!)
Bun Beater the best ever breathin or deceased
From the South to Midwest, Cali to the East
Got to any city n*gga and bring my name up (all of em!)
I bet I eat the best rapper they got in the game up
Call a n*gga up, email him or chirp him
Make a meal out his motherf*ckin ass and then burp him
(DAYUM!) Don't f*ck around I'm not your lil' homey
I'm the king of the underground so act like you know me
(Next up!)

[Verse 3: Kool G. Rap]
Feel me, homie, we big steppin, big reppin
We givin kids Smith & Wesson lessons, you get left with a sketchin
Left with the Midwest, clique Texans (who dat?)
G. and Daddy Kane, the click Texas (word)
Pop you to death
I put private planes on swift Jetsons, n*ggas know what it is
When you see the ball cap and a slick Thessons (woo!)
Til you strip vexing to a movie clip from the Westerns
sh*t from the Uzi clip lift up your midsection (Tell em G. Rap)
He will introduce you to the nose on the Glock fam
Give you metal jackets like clothes from a rock band
Multiple holes, you get those on your top, man (oww!)
High roller dose some hoes on the c*ck plan
Froze but never coldly rolls with a hot hand
We stackin cheese til the rubberbands pop scrams
And I ain't breakdancin when I'm in the pop stance
Bank pounds like James Brown give 'em hot pants
(Next up!)

[Verse 4: Pimp C]
I make your gurl get down and open it up
Put my di*k up in they jaws and go in they butt
I'm a young hot street flame (flame)
They call me Sweet James
Or call me Sir Jones, two hundred dollar cologne
(Uh!) Bond 9, or Issey Miyaki
I got your gurl mine, meat strong like saki
I ain't Rocky but I keep a rocket
f*ck around I'll knock your tuna fish out of socket
Your b*tch out of pocket, she under pimpery
She reckless eyeballin watchin my top fall in
On my Lambourghini with the three screens
Fettucini, linguini, shrimp and a bowl of lean!
What you know about gettin cross country
n*gga your piece big but your diamond look monkey
You need to take that sh*t back
Them ain't no Emmit diamonds
What the f*ck you done to that?
b*tch what the f*ck you done to that?!

[Outro: Marley Marl]
Now, damn! Somebody need to beat Jacob's ass over that!

A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z #

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