Eddie Ill & D.L. - Craig G and Will Pack Freestyle (Scenes of the Underworld) lyrics

[Intro: Craig G] What? Ha. Cover your ears, son. Uh. Cover your eyes. It's Craig G and Will Pack, uh. For Eddie Ill & D.L. Watch y'all n***as get smacked, uh. Yeah, it don't stop to stop, it don't quit, uh. It don't stop and, uh, it don't quit, uh. Now watch me set this sh** off. Ha. Ayyo, ayyo [Verse 1: Craig G] [?] faking jacks about rapid firing Brandishing iron, that n***a Craig G won't be retiring Rappers, I'll be firing, blasting, shooting Verbally executing, diluting Sodium crystals. Rappers get bust with pistols This sh** will flip you, rip you, strip you Kick you just like the World Cup, got your girl up In my crib, ripping, ‘bout to hurl up Bust a flow, I'll rip parties apart—I'm on the go Like a magazine, I'll use my spray paint can to tag a fiend Use my Timberlands to stomp a fiend, stamp a fiend Flip on n***as like a trampoline. Call you man to see My sh**'s swift when I rip, shift from first to fifth And with this microphone sh**, [?] [Verse 2: Will Pack] n***a, you better be cool in the game ‘cause my wild Style's more super fly than on the vials [?] when I see [?] and the devils, they be coming after me “Think” and you'll see the illness in Phil Collins Or maybe this b**h Lyn Collins But, no, I shouldn't say that ‘cause I'm no misogynist But I do this and rhyme, I flip on tracks And then I come off the wrist when I See the MPC-3000. Then I Come with some serum type sh** that flows through your vein While my man on top of the pain, uh [Verse 3: Craig G] On the plane, I order my food. I'm rude Keep my shoes off, order fried chicken if I'm in the mood Y'all n***as s**. Word up, call your rubber duckies Y'all n***as are wack. In fact, my rhymes'll make your night lucky Pink hearts, orange moons, green stars, blue clovers Y'all n***as' game is over—I'll roll it like a Rover Call Jehovah on Saturday. Rappers get Smacked on a madder day. Put your bat away From Matapan back to the trash can, you n***as get Smashed, and rip parties apart when I blast and My style's incredible. Hardy har har I'll stay in front of you like your Boston when they say, “Cah” Check the technique I rip. Ah, y'all n***as get smacked Bring it back. I'll deliver with bat, give you the shivers in back Make your chick shake, curl up like snail My rhymes are incredible and Craig G shall prevail [Verse 4: Will Pack] Ayyo, my n***a, these n***as claim they freestyles Is really free, but they all on chains in slavery Back in the days when they laying In ships, but I've got these verbals that will rip And chase your a** off the block. I've got figures of speech That wait at the end of the alley with their 9 upon the clock Pon co*k. And then I say, “Is you clocking In the projects? But maybe you meet me at the dock and?” And then I be rocking [?] For n***as with rock skulls and [?] On their faces, paint it. Biting n***as' raps Off of heads and their neck feel the pain, kid But when I say that my man We do shows all over the world for the whole lifespan W-I-L-P-A-C-K represent All overseas and then bring it back to BK For my man when we coming for the jam Ed Ill and my n***a Ill from lifespan Uh, Craig G, my man I'm tapping you and You got the ill type of [?] plan [Verse 5: Craig G] Uh, I fell through the screen door. I said it before Y'all n***as get cut like cold cakes—we're raw Word up—see it over by the seashore I'll rock it from [?]. You'll see three more Coming behind me like Cancer Man On the X-Files. My style's incredible, I'll slam the plan Just like Bam Bam Bigelow, rappers come up Then I'll tell y'all ne-g-roes to get the n***a slow I'll put you in the shovel. My style way above you Just like clouds and ions in the system that be raining No explaining. I jump on the plane and remain in The game like a f**ing embalming fluid [?] [?]. Rappers want to battle? Shut the f** up And let your rhymes grow up because they're not adult I'm agile. I'll flip like Mary Lou Retton Throw rappers like rice at a wedding. You'll cancel all your bets and Smacking, backing, leaving emcees reacting Shooting throughs in your face like John Paxson Take to the days like that old gang school taxing Rapping, take emcees with your jaw flapping Acting, but my name ain't Lou Gossett Give me the microphone and, like dynamite, I'ma toss it Floss it just like Johnson and Johnson Bust you in your face Charles Bronson. Once in America, that n***a Craig G will bring the terror for All y'all motherf**ers, you s** and whatever, huh Will Pack, Craig G. n***a, feel that If not, get smacked thirty f**ing rows back. Hold back C-R-A-I-G's about to smack y'all n***as Attack y'all n***as, pow, flat, flat y'all n***as Like flapjacks on tracks, black, I smack that Over the park fence. Rappers get docking Just like catfish. Back with Rip parties apart and smack it over [?] Bust you in your face like a boxer C-R-A-I-G and Craig G be like the orange juice to vodka What? [Interlude 1: Craig G and Will Pack] Will Pack: What, what? Freestyle. Have fun. Hip hop. Freestyle. Let's have fun Craig G: Eddie Ill & D.L., Craig G, Jameson. Eddie Ill & D.L., my man Sean C. Eddie Ill & D.L., my man J-to-the-A-to-the-M-to-the-E, uh [Verse 6: Craig G] [?]. Yes, I'm fresh My man [?], the kid nice, we all bless Put your hands up in the air, you feel stress And when I take the mic, there'll be one less Emcee, s**ers