5 Fingers of Death - Diamond D, Fat Joe, Big L

«Where are you?»

«Hey, there you are!»

«How does it feel to know you only have a few more seconds left to live?»

(«Big L» — Cut and scratched)

I stay jeweled up, pockets swelled up from banks I held up

Plenty bitch-ass niggas Big L stuck

I never catch cold feet when I hold heat

We roll deep in a triple black dark tinted old jeep

I catch a fag three o’clock in the morn

On the block all alone and put a 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

Mad niggas be fronting a lot

Popping mad shit, tryna be something they not

Your faggot ass better stick to dancing, don’t even look at me

I might break your jaw just for glancing, that’s right

In '97 Harlem kids is blowing

And we don’t trick, we’ll let a bitch starve till her ribs are showing

(«Lord Finesse» — Cut and scratched)

Heated divine mastermind that turn nickels to dimes

The authentic genuine that’s out to shine

The cool cat, the true mack, the smooth raps

Chickens be like, «Who that?»

I be doing my thing, kid (True dat)

Forget fronting, I’m beyond that, I roll with brothers ready for combat

All for eye-to-eye contact

With skills, G, yo it’s ill see, for real B

Ain’t no barbecue, niggas better stop tryna grill me

Huh, sent that style to the essence

Got niggas stressing my style, pull like fluorescents

No question, tough type to clutch mics

The positive upright, I’m the «I don’t give a fuck» type

Expose the facts, you know the haps

Could go to laugh astrological, like the signs in the Zodiac

Your rap crew out the stack loop, word up

My style’s tighter than a fat bitch in a cat suit

Suprise G, it’s not wise see to size me

When I operate, it’s Smooth Sailing like Ron Isely

Gotta do my thing, word up (Beg ya pardon?)

Time to bounce, gotta skate like Tonya Harding

(«A.G.» — Cut and scratched)

Yo I’m the cleverest top ten terrorist

Chickens ever diss they become featherless

Hate derelicts, certified gold medalist

You play fly cause I’m the most high like Everest

Look at all these fakes, musically you imitate the Crates

Won’t succeed moving at full speed with no brakes

Like Jake, watch me take your entourage

Can’t see me, I’m camoflauge and besides, I’m God

Mad hard like the S.A.T.

who have shorties

Caught up in the mental, watch her bless A. G

Evidently you still don’t know because you tempt me

Thought you was the boss when your fat thoughts were empty

Not Fat Joey Crack but still Jealous One’s Envy

Who sent me?

D.I.T.C., good and plenty

Like the doctor, smoke a Spike Joint and watch «Clockers»

Get rude like Shabba, make moves behind my blockers

Crazy sickness, you want the pure, you’d better pick this

Bitches can’t get this, faggots remain dickless

(«Fat Joe» — Cut and scratched)

Before we get started, let’s talk about these coward-hearted

MC’s that claim to be true O.G.'s

And war specialists forever bust your guns on the sack of shit

But when the beef come, get on the ___ before I protest your licks

You know the deal, I come with nothing but the real

Certified pejente, recognize mi gente

Whether East Coast or West Coast, I’ll make 'em all strip naked Bitch niggas

will never get respected

Joey Green bagging devils up in Bowling Green for all is clean

Cock the 9 soon as I seen his Rolie gleam

You know the team, never giving a fuck

Laying thick in the cut, get your shit laced up

What the fuck!

(«Diamond D» — Cut and scratched)

Yo I’m flipping on niggas like treys of crack

My raps react on your cardiac like a heart attack

Some niggas front for stunts

Who want to take a puff of the blunt and play a nigga like a chump

But I don’t play that shit with no chicks

Sucking the next nigga’s dick, moving bricks

I’m too slick for you high school dropouts

You got knocked and tried to cop out

Couldn’t fight when the kids pulled the mop out

And wails you out, writing home saying, «Bail me out»

Little small time, fucked up when you called mine

D Squared, one of the Greatest of All Times

Yeah, D.I.T.C.

representing for the '97, word life