Dummy Smacks - Mr Live, Chubb Rock

The tools these days to go past platinum is such

You need the street based doe, corporate blow and bucks

Talent gets fucked

Mediocre cocks get sucked

Shit I wanna get sucked that makes my nuts get slush

On the L with a cap I push the Range Rov'

X-Men style on the L, I don’t like the light bulb

I try this style

Tried niggas never tried to try me

In the deepest hood I’m extremely safe like whitey

The question, where have ya been?

Is your phlegm still acidic?

Think you’re Wolverine?

Forget it

Brooklyn born, Flatbush be keeping it warm

other people thought I was gone, never that

Now can ya, see it?

Your bogus style easily defeated

You have now been unseated or your jewels now depleted

But get superseded by the funk, it’s the lyrical

Breaking down your mineral, fucking up your physical

Your money can’t help so now you turn spiritual

Playing to God that Mr. Live will stop lynching you

Sorry

It’s a prophecy that I’ma exterminate

Weak ones I terminate

Smash and eradicate

Skate back to Brooklyn, smoke a dutch then I levitate

Generate venom, your bogus style ditto

cause in a sec' can get gone

Cause your ass can get caught up like a Popeye tune

It be the Rocka man, Mr. Live on a hot track

We can get up and change colors like IMAX

The legend, your eardrum remembers the deep vocal

Three octaves, no singing though, similar to Total

No beef with the game, the aims the same

Can’t fall cause there’s No Half Steppin' to Kane

Pure war, if you want war then son bad timing

If you slip up on your verse we’ll be Saving Private Rhyming

And I’m in, a league of my own remember the throne

That I sat on in Treat 'Em, your ego thought you could beat him

The ambition leaves you with more pots to piss in

But there’s a new clock, Len, Live plus the Rock is hot

Lyrical juggernaut

Hotter than that Coach bag your mother got

Me and your girl mad tight because we fuck a lot

I hate the deacon cause the nigga gets stuck a lot

Watch your back in Fort Green you gotta duck a lot

Because we bust a lot

we stuff a lot of nastiness

Brooklyn DJ, he be the jazziest

Live be the flashiest like Rosebud whispering

Listening to since I had your tongue blistering

Mr. and Rock, big Len nigga duck

You see Chubb in the place and you say, «What the fuck?»

Happy days are here again steady beaming

It’s the Live, mega fortified with the fat demon

You know there’s something I wanted to say for a long long time

Bread basket niggas be out loafing

When my shit drops your girl will be US Open

When my Benz shines I might even start boasting

Platinum shit then your career will be coasting

I’m not a fun nigga, I don’t be joking

You can Jim Carry that shit away, smoking

All that 2Pac shit leaving Oakland

Whether you’re weeded, dusted or just toking

Don’t mess with me son or be provoking

Or I’ll numb those sons your shit’s be broken

Generation X please stop poking

Fuck metro card son, just buy token

Uh

As if my are gonna around or something.

I feel almost nauseous.

I remember

standing up there thinking to myself, «What in the world is a matter with you?»

Now you can be acrobatic, maybe perform magic

Make a nigga Houdini can never escape my verbal matic

Tragic if I see casualties or leave fallacies

Smoking like a challenge be, it be your sanity

Nobody as bad as me

Your mic will even know it

Fucking Bush is in the office, niggas should’ve went and voted

You know it

So niggas after money get your

It’s getting hot, don’t sleep when this shit happens

We going back to Wild Style and crack vial

No city funding, heard the youth done in

«Son that nigga preaching»

You ain’t got to see the Live

George Bush be taking you back to '85