139 - Tony Touch

Big L

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    ["Big L" Lord Finesse]

    [scratched during the intro]
    ["1-3-9" Notorious B.I.G. - Ten Crack Commandments]

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    [Intro: Big L]
    Where I'm from
    Yeah, Tony Touch in the house, yeah
    Big L Harlem on the rise, 1 3 9
    You ain't know!?
    One love to my nigga McGruff, Mase Murda, Killa Kam
    Rest in peace to my man Bloodshed
    Live on baby, the spirit live on
    Yeah BBO in the house
    Yeah my men stand I'ma rock this shit
    Check it out!

    [Big L]
    Yo, I be that smooth cat you never seen rollin' with clowns
    One of the few from Uptown that's holdin it down
    Bitches be on me like I'm welfare, even rich ones
    that live in Bel Air, is this Big L yeah, hell yeah
    Word up, I use a chrome gat to push domes back
    Watch how you talk when you call me, Feds got my phone tapped
    This rap game, I put my life in it, chain got
    mega ice in it, push an Infinite, chrome rims, light tinted
    You can see pal, it's all about me now
    Twenty G's a show bitch three thou just to freestyle
    I made this cheese it didn't grow on trees
    Can you hold somethin? Sure, you can hold on these
    Yo I'm fat like the old Cray-on, smooth as Rayon
    L is who the ladies stay on, baby play on
    I stay jeweled up, pockets swelled up from banks I held up
    Plenty bitch-ass niggaz Big L stuck
    I never catch cold feet when I hold heat
    We roll deep, with the Triple Black dogs in their old jeep
    I catch a fag three o'clock in the morn
    On the block all alone and put the glock to his dome
    Tell him "Give it up quick, you nitwit, don't try to get slick
    Or I'm a let this four-fifth spit and leave your shit split"
    Prick, it ain't nothing decent about me
    A true thug for real, you can ask the precinct about me
    A rap junkie, don't try to play me like some flunky
    Jewels be chunky, pockets lumpy, attitude grumpy
    And mad niggaz be fronting the life
    Popping mad shit, trying to be something they not
    Your faggot ass better stay to dancing, don't even look at me
    I might break your jaw just for glancing
    I'm sick like Manson
    In '97 Harlem kids is blowing
    And we don't trip, we'll let a bitch starve til her ribs are showing

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