"Slap" lyrics

Busta Rhymes, Big Daddy Kane & Conway The Machine Lyrics

"Slap"

[Busta Rhymes:]
I go on and on and on and
Don't approach me, I back the ratchet, that's a warnin'
Ha-ha-ha
Y'all gon' appreciate the slap today
Taheem Allah, King Asiatic Allah
AKA Bust' Rhymes, Big Daddy Kane in the motherfucker
Yeah, we in the motherfucker this evenin'
Rest in peace Biz Mark'
Rest in peace to all of our fallen soldiers
Rest in peace to PnB Rock, look
Look
Somebody polish my crown and put it back on my motherfuckin'—
Yo, yo

We on course now, back with the force, respect the boss
Shots let off, shit leak out your head like pasta sauce
Who's to blame? (Uh) Burnin' this bitch and bangin' flame
Yeah, we back (Conglomerate, bitch), you know the name (Ayo)
You ridin' on empty, you should refuel at Amoco
Most you niggas is finished, now pop yourself like Plaxico
Pass the dough, cook you and serve you like a casserole
And lay you out on the street and display you like a fashion show
Sorry, but I have to go, my spit is full of rockets
And I'm done with laying niggas in quadrilateral boxes
Compatible with toxins
The texture in my lecture will reflect the image of niggas gettin' chopped with a thousand oxes
The shit that I concoct is
Mixed like type two diabetes mixed with high cholesterol, artery blockage (ha-ha)
You better call the cops, kid (Huh)
Or quickly turn into one of them niggas abroad as a headless unsolvable hostage
Niggas throw the coke around like them niggas in mosh pits
A lot of niggas think they got it, but niggas just pop shit
We back to giving niggas bangers, controllin' the block, it's
The fact that I'm holdin' a rock while I'm foldin' a knot, bitch

[Conway the Machine:]
Yeah, I see these niggas still lyin' on their raps and buyin' their own plaques (Huh?)
I'm so relaxed, I don't reply if you don't at
Killer been chillin', but somebody dyin' if bro snap
He dyin' to go. "Grrat"
That's when y'all niggas gon' be dyin' to go rat
In and out of jail, so we don't mind if we go back (Huh?)
Got the rap business down to the science, don't know cap (Woo)
Hall of fame and we're just analyzin' my old stats (Ah)
Glidin' on those tracks (Ah)
My catalog in it's entirety all slap
And my impact feels like that of a ball bat
Swing from Aaron Judge, bling canary studs (Talk to 'em)
Yeah, Mercedes concept, where you get that from?
You talkin' online and I ain't worried 'bout that bum (Come on, man)
I was bullshittin', then I three-peat back to back, uh
Machine brought that feel back, how they ain't gon' jack son? (Woo)
'Bout to go on my Kobe and Shaq run (Ah)
Punch a nigga in the chest, he'll get a collapsed lung (ha-ha-ha)
Doat street, May block, you know where I'm at, uh (Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom)
One

[Big Daddy Kane:]
Made a solemn oath to never stop gettin'
Decades later, steady 'bout business
Spendin' wild since I ain't have a pot to piss in
Tried to give 'em game, but they're steady not listenin'
Some of y'all got that Fetty Wap vision
My third eye improved my effin' cognition
Move like the feds and hit every spot different
When me and Buss' hit the block, listen
Let me try to spit it to you logically
You got Kevin's heart but no state property
I can land wherever in this here monopoly
Park Place, Boardwalk, them Greens, I got the three
Stop playin', y'all, I got a thirst to meet
But I left a spot at the table, it's common courtesy
The urgency for currency certainly workin' me, purposely
Even inadvertently, turnin' me into Hercules
No laggin' and that's the deft of it
If y'all don't know the roots to this, then let me Questlove it
Instead of y'all livin' on a set budget
Make sure that bag secure, next subject
I ain't at the ATM to check luggage
My bags carry on (It'll come to you later)
'Cause I'm a real earner, boy
And you don't wanna turn the boy into a Nat Turner, boy
You 'bout to be a learner, boy
Enjoy yourself until I pop smoke and burn a boy
End of story, no one goes after me
I anchor tracks so you hear last from me
Don't ask me to pass the mic, that's blasphemy
Fuck I look like to y'all, DJ Cassidy?

[Busta Rhymes:]
A-Big Daddy, ha-ha, my man, my mellow
Let's count this bread because you been the type of fellows
Ha-ha-ha


Writer(s): Demond Price, Antonio Hardy, Marley Marl, Trevor Tahiem Smith Jr
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