Next Up (feat. Big Daddy Kane & Kool G Rap)

Lyrics for Next Up (feat. Big Daddy Kane & Kool G Rap)

Gawddayum, I don't know what y'all been thinkin' 'bout But I think this right here is about to shut dem damn haters down I'm from the streets that make niggaz walk slow, talk low With white chalk-o, mi casa be siete uno ocho Brooklyn motherfucker, handle this Pardon my Spanish and French Okay, I stay clever like Mayweather with lay leather Till your face sever, one of the greatest ever Beyond ringin' bells, my name's so demandin' Shit, I got the swagger that'll leave Dakota Fanning I hope you niggaz over standin', I stay sucker-free The next king of in the game, you ain't got enough to be Your career last a week, that'll be luckily Fuck with me, the rap game'll need protective custody I'm the same thug that be surrounded with women Gave the game true religion before you found it in denim Feel the Wrath of Kane and you could not escape The hip hop version of †The Ring' and you just watched the tape And keep your eyes on the niggas in Ward Triple black in the candy painted car is the color of board Me or my brother on pall with n'am nigga We trill, workin' the wheel, understand nigga? I smother and split a bitch down to the tendon High pressure, if you don't break your ass bendin' I'm way past endin' in my series of warnin' You flex with me tonight, playa, you dead by the mornin' Bun Beater, the best ever breathin' or deceased From the South to Midwest, Cali to the East Go to any city nigga and bring my name up I bet I eat the best rapper they got in the game up Call a nigga up, email him or chirp him Make a meal out his motherfuckin' ass and then burp him Don't fuck around, I'm not your lil' homey I'm the King of the Underground, so act like you know me Homie, we big steppin', big reppin' We givin' kids Smith & Wesson's lessons, you get left with a sketchin' Left with the Midwest, clique Texans G. and Daddy Kane, the click Texas, pop you to death I put private planes on swift Jetsons, niggaz know what it is When you see the ball cap and a slick Thessons Till you strip vexin' to a movie clip from the Westerns Shit from the Uzi clip lift up your midsection He willduce you to the nose on the Glock fam Give you metal jackets like clothes from a rock band Multiple holes, you get those on your top, man High roller dose some hoes on the cock plan Froze but never coldly rolls with a hot hand We stackin' cheese till the rubber bands pop scrams And I ain't breakdancin' when I'm in the pop stance Bank pounds like James Brown give 'em †Hot Pants' I make your girl get down and open it up Put my dick up in they jaws and go in they butt I'm a young hot street flame, they call me Sweet James Or call me Sir Jones, two hundred dollar cologne Board Nine or Issey Miyaki I got your girl mine, meat strong like saki I ain't Rocky but I keep her rockin' Fuck around, I'll knock your tuna fish out of socket Your bitch out of pocket, she under pimpery She reckless eyeballin' watchin' my top fall in On my Lamborghini with the quick scream Fettucini, linguine, shrimp and a bowl of lean What you know about gettin' cross country? Nigga, your piece big but your diamond look monkey You need to take that shit back That ain't no Emmy diamonds what the fuck you done to that Bitch, what the fuck you done to that? Now, damn, somebody need to beat Jacob ass over that