Yo. 1, 2, 1, 2. G'ahead, drop it

Yeah 1, 2, 1, 2. I go by the name of the Big L. Know what I'm saying?

Rock this for Rock N. Wills. Hardpack tape

A'ight. Goes like this

Ay yo. I've got the gift of gab

To lift and grab

The mic and recite hype rhymes

That'll rip and rag

And drag a fag MC

Who likes to nag a lot

And brag a lot

Talking about the lyrics that he has are hot

Step to this and get lit like a candle, troop

Rhymes I hook up

MCs I cook up

Like Campbell's soup

I throw rhymes like a quarterback

Front and you'll get bust

And dust

And crushed

Bum rushed

And all of that

Rhymes never sound wack

Cause I've got them down packed

For you the time is over

So give me your crown Jack

I get hype fast

And MCs might last

A minute with me

Because their rhymes are light as

A feather and mine are heavy like a big brick

Rappers catch a fit quick

When I start to kick shit

And I record my battles on a camcorder

So I can sit back and watch me manslaughter

MCs that tried to get with me, hops

That's why they all got taken out like a pizza box

The crown is still mine

Cause I kick ill rhymes

A lot of rappers talk that murder shit and couldn't kill time

Or beat eggs or whip cream

I'm smoother than Vaseline

And I'm a stone cold rapping fiend

A lot of new jacks are coming out, but that's cool

Cause I'm the principal of the new school

A'ight. Check this out another joint like this

A'ight. Check it out

I control the microphone like a robot

My lyrics are so hot

Props: I've got a whole lot

Cause with a pen and some paper this man made

Rhymes: they're so damn great

With flavor like pancakes

I'm kicking rhymes like a game of kickball

I'm rough like a brick wall

MCs take a big fall

For trying to get with this

I'm too swift for this

A microphone murderer form of magnificence

A def rapper and also a swell one

In a battle I cook MCs well done

My hits are consecutive

I'm a lyrical executive

Bite my rhymes and I won't let you live

So to be safe on the microphone homes

Recite your own po'ms

Or get your dome blown

Or put in a boot camp

L's the new champ

I'm not the kind to go out like a Food Stamp

I'm throwing rhymes like a pitcher throws a curveball

And I'm a serve all

Punks that try to brawl

So stop sleeping on me

Don't even dose hops

Or I'm a heat you up

And eat you up

Like Stove Top

Stuffing

I'm bum rushing

Shorts: I'm taking none

My rhymes weigh a ton

I'm not faking son

You're the one whose faking, trying to be a duplicate

Can't kick stupid shit

Tell you the truth: you should quit

Rapping

Start snappin

Cause all you is a joke

Battle L and get smoked

Yo. I over throw ya

And have you screaming like a rollercoaster

Guzzle you down like a small cup of Coca Cola

I'm going though MCs like a ransack

Stand back

As I cruise

Smooth

Like an Amtrack

Your rhymes are rusty G

You can't fuck with me

That's why you're hiding in protective custody

L's not the one an'

I keep MCs runnin'

I hurt them like bunions

Make them cry like onions

I'm a lyrical fighter

And I'm brighter

Than Einstein

Try to bite my lines

And get a size nine

Foot

Put

In your ass for being a crook

Hit with a vital hook

And get your title took

Pass it to my man

(Someone else)

Ha ha. ??? got flavour

Keep that flowing

(Big L)

I'm the microphone murderer

And I'm known for busting mad caps

I rip and rag tracks

With rhymes that back slap

Causing a nightmare

I dont fight fair

Niggas playing hard rocks hoping they might scare

The B-I-G L, but im not to be fucked with

You're trying to take your idol's

Title

You're on some buck shit

I keep the women fiending for my smooth shit

My rhymes are mad thick

And yours are dead as a poo stick

Fuck it

Bus it

I like it rough and rugged

Your style is wick wack

And played out like Nugget

Bracelets

Face this

You can't erase this

Escape this

Break this

Take this

Cook or bake this

I get so loose

On beats that I produce

Niggas be fronting crazy hard and got no juice

They're softer than paper plates

The lyrics I make is great

A few sheets of loose leaf

And an eraser mate

Is all I need to write rhymes that are extra fly

Mics I wreck and fry

Rappers I petrify

Pack a four fifth with eight shots

With one you get popped

And now your locked in a box

Dead with no props

I'm not joking. There's no time for snapping

Niggas that be yapping

I'm putting caps in

So base up and sprayed up

From the waist up

You'll be found face up

Cops can't trace up

Fingerprints. Why? Because I leave no evidence

Big L's the name, 139 is the residence

Peace