|
|
Intro:
|
(first 0:52 -- small club, Liks performing live
|
next 0:20 -- sounds of clinking ice cubes, drinks being poured)
|
Voodoo - Alright, we're back on WLIX this is Voodoo and uh
|
*chaos ensues*
|
E-Swift - Aiyyo, they came down, you know
|
I know y'all get asses all the time
|
But do me this favor
|
I want y'all to bust the freestyles for us
|
I wanna know who's first up, you freestyle?
|
Tash - Yo yo, we got Crackerjack from the Loot Pack
|
about to se this shit off, ay Crackerjack
|
Set it off. I know we on the radio, yo Crackerjack
|
set it off
|
Verse One: Crackerjack
|
Ya dumb dunce it goes once upon the rhyme, Jack is out
|
to clench a fist and drop flows that gets papes like The Abyss
|
All in this, freestyle's wild when I'm throwin this
|
Non-bogus brothers shake the hip and toe and just
|
Get involved, roll with the sould, make the head nod
|
Look at the bash slash back I kick the abstract
|
Make brothers say "Damn, that rap's fat," recline that ass back
|
A smack-back and slap from Wild Child with the ramshack
|
I used to pick up the damn slack bed on the ramps back
|
in the days, when Eric, was in the, honey phase
|
Nowadays, turn in applications
|
Rockin the Appalachians with the ladies with the sexy activations
|
on the Blackwatch, I own a black watch, although I'm Blackwatch
|
You want to, confront who? A microphone check one two
|
Complicated for ya [yeah]
|
I got the naps that break the pics
|
Plus the props from the Liks
|
Ha haa, Loot Pack's on the rise
|
Sayin, "Liks liks liks boy, run your backside"
|
Yo, J-Ro, Mad Lib, my man
|
Just, get on the mic and please arise the jam
|
Verse Two: Mad Lib, J-RO
|
I bust the animated suspension, vocabulary wack MC prevention
|
My division is itchin for the switch
|
Pitchin upon the West coast, the best brad and boast
|
Bragadocious, ferocious emotional osmosis
|
I skip like a stone when I lake over a break
|
I rip microphones and I take over the fake creWWWs
|
I wish I could sing like Smokey do
|
But I'm vocally locin with the Loot Pack crew
|
I'm Mad Lib, the bad kid, brothers try to do wht I did
|
Back in junior high, cause I'm fly with my
|
Vocabulary tradition, total chaos rhythmatic
|
static, in fact they case erase so stay off
|
Cause nobody knows how it goes with the flows
|
and rows of hoes froze, chosen bust erosion on the lows when
|
The ill speak, plus the Liks knot thick
|
Mad quick to rock ya lip, like hip-hop to grits
|
But yo freak this, I come with uniqueness
|
I'm like Pepe LePew yo, hoes are my weakness
|
Back in high school you didn't think I could get nifty
|
Now I'm on your magazine rack down at Thrifty
|
Since eighty-three I been housin folks
|
All the way from Orange Country out to Thousand Oaks
|
It ain't a, nother rapper in the country who can crunch me
|
If you don't believe me, run up and try to punch me
|
I flip the funk like Monk, Higgins when I'm diggin
|
I'm swiggin on a Snapple cause my crew be wicked when we gig it
|
I rock the mad vocab, when my toe jabs I'm so bad
|
I make you flow bad, like when I blow lads to pieces
|
Verse Three: Tash
|
No releases on the two steel wheels
|
Comes the lyrical skills that kills more ducks than oils spills
|
My niggaz run for the hills, I can track em through the mountains
|
Rico kick that kind of shit that got more bounce than Roger Troutman
|
So passs the weed to the top top seed
|
With lyrics as deadly as the VD's that make ya lungs bleed
|
Plus I dig like coal miners through the crates of old timers
|
I be blowin up the spot like dynamite with one-liners
|
Oh reminde,r to my ex-bitch when I find ya
|
I'ma smack you for them times I had to start sixty-nine
|
Yes on the low, my nigga with the hat to the back
|
Get on the mic and show these niggaz where you at
|
Verse Four: Wild Child
|
Here I am doing shows, wall to wall
|
Nate stacks tall I still won't fall
|
Never will I be sellout poverty, some don't believe in me
|
Still I get my verbs on, my verse on, I raps long
|
You're dead wrong, all in all should say the sale starts
|
when A&R says go, you start with the dope verse
|
and you're sold, now you're on clearance when the record starts sellin
|
But I'm not willin |