Big L, JAY-Z - Stretch & Bobbito '95 Pt. I lyrics

Yo, check it yo, I got slugs for snitches
No love for bitches
Putting 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 yoking jacks
And beating them with smoking gats
Leaving 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 lightning
You see what happened in my last fight friend
Aight then i beat kids with lead pipes
I leave a trail 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 volts
For selling pounds of coke
Front in this town and get a
TEC stuck down your throat
I'm telling 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 hotty stare
I keep a shotty near
It's the nigga with knotty
Hair who Gotti fear tracks I'm know to roast
Until the microphone is ghost
Props I own the most
I'm leaving niggas comatose
Front and get your brain pinched
Big L will have your whole gang lynched
I started smoking dust and been insane since
This rap shit was a great gift
The other night some snake riffed
And got a hot lead face lift
All through high school I had braids
I kept mad blades
Stabbing 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 whyle town
You know my style clown, so bow down

Word up! '95 style i got my man Jay-Z
Here step up to the mic yo, word up! The
Single's called "Put It On" It's
In stores right now
Produced by my man Buckwild in the chorus
He got Kid Capri and got a LG remix which
You heard a little while ago word up! Jay-Z!












Brothers can beg and borrow
Still feel sorrow when Jay
Z like Zorro get in that ass
Better luck tomorrow
I'm too much, nigga, so never should you rush
You need slow down, or get your ass tore down
Check it out, I'm too cocky
To stop me, you gotta kill me
And when I'm gone, you can still feel me
On the real, B
The shit is eternal, I rock the Heavens well
Even if they won't let me in Heaven
I raise hell, till it's Heaven
Recognize, the black cat with the nine lives
Get up off me, nigga
It's bad luck to cross me
I'm poppin Crystal
Shooting game like missiles
As projected, all ho's affected by this style
I mack like Goldie, go back like the oldies
But the goody
Pulling R&B bitches wearing hoodies
They don't be knowing the way I be flowing
When I be going
I be running the track like Jesse Owens
I disrupt the natural scheme
The way that you do things wit a
Swing and have em rocking like
You say never you run, if ever you come
It's never you run so fast in
Your life to never have won
Come on and ride the rhythm
I be producing like jizm
Just like the gods I start with
Knowledge and follow with wisdom
For greater understanding
I'm landing blows and
Knocking sense into those that oppose me, ha
Enticin when slicing through tracks
You're screaming, "Jesus Christ, " he's back
And God knows he can rap
Me and L put rhythm on the map
So give him his dap and me, I just take mine
Gimme those, gimme this, gimme that
Fuck that you never see me stressed, in a GS
On the prize
My greedy eyes can't see no less
Jigga incredible even my thoughts is federal
Like kidnapping, extortion and corruption
So you know, beatin me will never come
Like a nun or tomorrow, I'm too thorough
Nigga i make moves, cause bowels to move
When I'm creeping through your hood
With a thousand little dudes
Armed with the peace like Islam
I make your eyes rise like yeast
Surprise, I feel no fear when facing y'all
Betcha lyrics jump off the
Track like racing cars
Emcee's trying to be the best
And even in dying, couldn't be this def
I see no reason to stop cheesin
Ever since L said "Throw three Gs in"
And we can get down and split the wealth
That's when I found I could do it myself
I get up