Busta Rhymes - The Last Lyricist lyrics
[Intro: DJ Kay Slay] It's a time for martyrs now, as the rap game that's in a crisis Record sales continue to decline, record labels are mergin And cats got confused on what's real hip hop [Chorus: Busta Rhymes] We got the real live spitters in the game of rap!!! All you dudes say you nice, but you n***as is wack!!! Where my lyricists at?!! Where my lyricists at?!!! Where the f** you n***as at?! Where the lyricists at?! [Verse 1: Big Lou] I could carry the weight of Pun, ressurect Big L's lungs And jack every single beat that Jam-Master Jay spun I'm the lyrical son of Rakim, the jab of Bernard Hopkins The voice of B.I.G. and Pac overlooked by Johnnie Coch-aran The KRS-One doctrine, the monster in these n***as That be posterin I'm robbin 'em in a whip they girlfriend drivin 'em I'm bu*ter without the margarine, the crack without the sizzle The rain without the drizzle, the hammer without the chizle The baller without the dribble, the scribble Scrabble, the Writer's Block I bibble babble have the spit and flip the rip the chain that shackles Had to fight and grapple and tackle the Rotten Apple I traveled from Camden and met the Drama King at the tabernacle Gave me the juice like a Snapple, ran with it like the Olympics Encrypted my signature on templets for the cake like Krimpets Move Atlantis, I Am Legend, knock a Troy to Armageddon Lyrical prophet the hip hop heavens, raised by Latin Florida Evans [Chorus: Busta Rhymes] We got the real live spitters in the game of rap!!! All you dudes say you nice, but you n***as is wack!!! Where my lyricists at?!! Where my lyricists at?!!! Where the f** you n***as at?! Where the lyricists at?! [Verse 2: Papoose] No lyrical content just typical nonsense My mental too complexed to listen to garbage Every lyric I palm breast he grippin a large tek And k**in you God bless that sh** is too far fetched Givin you are a threat then live it don't talk mess n***as in projects ain't feelin you more or less This hittin your heart yes you miserable or stressed Get rid of you y'all sets, finish your squad next Pitiful process with spirits that's part flesh We rip through your small chest with critical objects n***a you waan test the general confess I'll injure you frauds best in criminal contest No k**a you harmless my birth involves d**h Umbilical cords wrecked my little unborn neck Before I get all dressed in greens and oppress And walk through the yards vexed I rather graveyard rest [Chorus: Busta Rhymes] We got the real live spitters in the game of rap!!! All you dudes say you nice, but you n***as is wack!!! Where my lyricists at?!! Where my lyricists at?!!! Where the f** you n***as at?! Where the lyricists at?! RAH!!!!!!! [Verse 3: Papoose] Totalos tiempo (?) Contiene mal aliento I'll k** you tomorrow Playin with Papoose like I ain;t the rap truth I'll k** 'em in that booth you doubt it go ask booth Slay gave me the dice, I hit 'em with the deuce They started laughin but man this the deuce that k**ed Bruce [Verse 4: Big Lou] The most original, lyrical criminal, leave you in critical Torture and ridicule these pitiful rappers, I'm cynical With the flow that's enormous, my swagger and stage performance The corners I sold to foreigners, they zoners tryin to extort us The c**a I dropped in waters, supporters I'm crossin borders Papa blessin me with orders, I never move like the tortoise I rather move like the Testarossa, eat like I'm in Ponderosa 2008 Keyser Sosa, I'm sh**tin on all these chokers [Chorus: Busta Rhymes] We got the real live spitters in the game of rap!!! All you dudes say you nice, but you n***as is wack!!! Where my lyricists at?!! Where my lyricists at?!!! Where the f** you n***as at?! Where the lyricists at?!