HaaIntro:
It's like, it's like this
Word up, knowhutI'msayin? One time for your mind, y'knowI'msayin?
Yo, from upstate to Brooklyn, the whole borough's thorough
You know the time, y'knowI'msayin?
Crown Heights, to all my n****s holdin it down
It's hardcore, B-boy rhymes just for you, y'knowI'msayin?
(L-A-W, this might trouble you) This is Sharief, y'knowI'msayin?
Puttin it down for the Aftermath like this
Verse 1:
As I inhale the blunt and take a sip off the yac
My rhymes come to life, my verbal forces attack
Can't hold me back, I'm too strong, I waited too long
Freestyle a whole rap tape then write a new song
Been in the game since...what? That s**t is past tense
Pass the microphone and watch this n**** crack the C
with that ill s**t, I came to kill s**t
I crack the code, must be the reason they reveal s**t
But in this era of mayhem
I recyc' the murderous rhymes to slay them
To all my opponents who wanna kick it, I spark
the verbal scientist in your title, I'm walkin wit it
A hundred dime pieces and the party got the heaters
I shine my verbal styles and got n****s climbin on speakers, the thrill
seekers
An earthquake of bass lines swangin the party, I'm slangin the mic
like a syllable shotty, sippin 40's
Chorus:
Check it out y'all, L-A-W's raw
L.A.W., the Lyrical Assault Weapon
L-A-W, this might trouble you
For all the B-boys and all the B-gals
Check it out now, L-A-W's raw
L.A.W., the Lyrical Assault Weapon
L-A-W, this might trouble you
For all the B-boys and all the B-gals
Verse 2:
Bona fide B-boy, biceps' bionic
Blast em back, okay let's get it started
Original rap styles comin from my shooter
Fifty n****s deep, I'm the ill kid recruiter
People gather round, check my flow
listen too, look take a peek, time for thought then you know (What they
know?)
I build with skill, fulfill the drill and still then kill
You couldn't stop the pain with Benadryl
Too many claim unnamed for fame
or be soft as baby tissue with no gun to aim
I take a raptor's rough cos I'lla date the semen
Spectators be sayin they can't go where he went
That's another level of attack (haa), bring your bats
My DJ scratch the record like a scrotum sack
I slice the rapper like a surgeon
If he wanna battle, I play him out like a priest in a turban
Too much tenacity, vocal capacity
Ya better take some notes, don't try to get on after me
Cos I'm the chemical enemical
Rhymes I say are definitely guaranteed to reach the pinnacle
Chorus:
Check it out y'all, L-A-W's raw
L.A.W., the Lyrical Assault Weapon
L-A-W, this might trouble you
For all the real players and all the fly girls
Check it out now, L-A-W's raw
L.A.W., the Lyrical Assault Weapon
L-A-W, this might trouble you
For all the real players and all the fly girls
Verse 3:
Feelin the metronome click, my microphone's on
It's time to kiss Sharief to perform
Ya lukewarm, my degrees be uncharted in the centre of fight square
I rum brass knuckle rhymes f**kin with crimes
I'm natural as loaded dice, understand
where no man survives, L.A.W. can
Transform, I see it ain't even worth ya triggers
I'm from the days when B-boys were straight earthin n****s
Standin my arms crossed, toss a grenade
rein-force my zone as a lyrical barricade
You better cos your dome piece blown
Release chrome beats, nuclear missiles rhymes under my comb
Three strikes marks the villian bustin rhymes
like shots in Sarajevo Saturday night blood be spillin
Some I slaughter such as *?two compel?* blows
Crush your corny kids caught stumblin on my shells, so
sick, too quick, I stab you with some s**t
Doin infinite a**ault these hard lyrics I commit
When I crush your lungs, I keep my pace uptempo
Swingin my prison rhymes, f**kin mics like a nympho
Chorus:
Check it out y'all, L-A-W's raw
L.A.W., the Lyrical Assault Weapon
L-A-W, this might trouble you
For all the real hustlas across the world
Check it out now, L-A-W's raw
L.A.W., the Lyrical Assault Weapon
L-A-W, this might trouble you
For all the real hustlas across the world
*repeat to fade*
Woo
Dedicated to the up city
Straight West Coast n****, ain't no pity
Put holes in n****s, real pretty
Real s**tty like a black Frank Nitty
I give drugs to the thugs price-free
Handed down the game by that n**** Ice-T
No doubt players like me
recognise the great King Tee, about twenty grand a ki
Ah, that's that G s**t, no doubt about that
Statutory lyrics is how I rape the rap
And get your n****s off my back
and no, GOD, ya don't pull a strap, cos (*gun shot*) F**K THAT!
I'm very precise when I shoot
straight out the roof of my Lexus coupe
Ya wanna blame Tha Alkaholik group
but, naw, that n**** Tela must've hit the loot
Cos he's actin real loonie
and I don't give a f**k cause I'm drunk and I'm a G like Spoonie
The hoodrats wanna do me
So if you've got'cha county cheque give it to me
Chorus:
Now baby, don't trip, it's King Tee with the gangsta s**t
Ain't f**kin with nothin but them platinum hits
And the two dog groan, a 50 gat to your dome
That n**** on the mic str-8 gone
*repeat*
Huh, so I guess I earned the title 'OG'
Been down for ten years, this my fifth Lp
I'ma get this one easy
A real motherf**kin G, R-rock Tee
Now all these fools talkin 'bout they some killers
car stealers, big time drug dealers
B**** a** n****s keep it real, don't lie
You ain't killin s**t and they gon' let s**t die
You ask "Who the hell am I?"
They call me 'Big Bone' and on my worst night I fades em all
And I come thru ya hood like a locc a** G
Rip any fool that calls hisself an MC
It's only one way, let's have gun play
I make it play, n****, f**k what you got to say
I got a mad crew of murderers, ex-burglars
Puttin soft n****s outta service
Chorus:
Now baby, don't trip, it's King Tee with the gangsta s**t
Ain't f**kin with nothin but them platinum hits
And the two dog groan, all the f**kin chips blown
That n**** on the mic str-8 gone
Baby, don't trip, it's King Tee with the gangsta s**t
Ain't f**kin with nothin but them platinum hits
And the two dog groan, sittin on chrome
That n**** on the mic str-8 gone
My whole crew lives illegal
Strapped with the bulletproof vest in the front and back Regal
Smokin that sticky green grass
Hittin switches, bumpin on cuts from the past
We smoke leaf cos we live like G's
Super-soft n****s become enemies
I hit a lick on the East for ten ki's
now everything I drive is on Deez
I'ma make you believe, I gotta put it down like a real n**** should
My dope spot in every n****'s hood
I don't waste time, I need to get what's mine
Fourteen shells from behind
Leave you in the blind, str-8 paralysed from ya spine
A partner of organised crime
Ya hear it all the time but now ya gotta hear it from the truth
til my n**** Karl Phat's respect due
Chorus:
Now baby, don't trip, it's King Tee with the gangsta s**t
Ain't f**kin with nothin but them platinum hits
And the two dog groan, 50 gat to the dome
That n**** on the mic str-8 gone
(repeat 4X)
And I'm gone |
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