Song: 98 Freestyle
Artist:  Big L
Year: 2000
Viewed: 47 - Published at: 5 years ago

[Verse 1]
Yo, fuck all the glamours and glitz, I plan to get rich
I'm from New York and never was a fan of the Knicks
And I'm all about expanding my chips
You mad 'cause I was in the van with your bitch
With both hands on her tits
Corleone hold the throne, that you know in your heart
I got style plus the way that I be flowing is sharp
A while back, I used to hustle, selling blow in the park
Counting G stacks and rocking ice that glow in the dark
Forever hottie hunting
Trigger temper, I'm quick to body something
You looking at me like I'm probably fronting
I fuck around and throw three in your chest and flee to my rest
I'm older and smarter, this is me at my best
I stopped hanging around y'all
'Cause niggas like you be praying on my downfall
Hoping I flop, hoping I stop
You probably even hope I get locked
Or be on the street corner with a pipe, smoking the rock
I got more riches than you, fuck more bitches than you
Only thing I haven't got is more stitches than you
Fucking punk, you ain't a leader, what? Nobody followed you
You was never shit, your mother should've swallowed you
You on some tag-along, flunky yes-man shit
Do me a favor; please get off the next man dick
And if you think I can't fuck with whoever, put your money up
Put your jewels up, no, fuck it, put your honey up
Put your raggedy house up, nigga, or shut your mouth up
Before I buck lead and make a lot of blood shed
Turn your tux red, I'm far from broke, got enough bread
And mad hoes, ask Beavis, I get nothing Butthead
My game is vicious and cruel, fucking chicks is a rule
If my girl think I'm loyal, then that bitch is a fool
How come? You can listen to my first album
And tell where a lot of niggas got they whole style from
So what you acting for?
You ain't half as raw, you need to practice more
Somebody tell this nigga something, 'fore I crack his jaw
You running with boys, I'm running with men
I'mma be ripping the mics until I'm a hundred and ten
Have y'all niggas like "Dammit, this nigga done done it again"
I throw slugs at idiots, no love for city cops
I sport a pretty watch, eight-hundred and fifty rocks
I'm making wonderful figures
I don't fuck with none of you niggas
I might pull out this gun on your niggas
And rob every last one of you niggas
[Verse 2]
Aight, let me kick some more shit, one more time
(Yeah-yeah… Spit, some more) - Bobbito
Aight, check it out, yeah, check it out
Yeah, check it out, yeah, check it out
Uhh, check it out, aight, check it out
Aight, we gone hit it like this, check it out
Yo, check it, yo, my shit is hot like jerk chicken
I should rob you, but with that cheap shit, you ain’t worth stickin'
I’ve got a left hook that be leaving guys knocked out
Keep fronting and I'mma choke you till your eyes pop out
I was taught that if a nigga swing, swing right back
Battle Corleone, why do a stupid thing like that?
Yo, I’m not in the mood, son, so don’t push me tonight
Plus I fucked your little sister and that pussy was right
That pussy was tight — gripping my dick like a pair of pliers
You fucking snitch; right now you prolly wearing wires
It’s not a joke, so as soon as he laugh
I’mma strip him naked and stick a long broom in his ass
Leave him heart-broken, make him quit rap and start smoking
My album is done, so no, there ain't no parts open
I’m not a sweet stud, I’m a street thug
That’s quick to beat a nigga like a cheap rug till he leak blood
You sure soft, watched you fall off, might slide your whore off
Then call all off, and tear your jaw off
My life is far out, I got star clout
Every week, bring a different car out
Go to clubs and buy the bar out
You ain’t a player, put that cigar out
Take that suit off, before I shoot off, and tear your roof off
Leave your clothes bloody-red like the nose of Rudolph
I rocked many stages and never got booed off
I might let this gat burst, put you in a big black hearse
For that wack verse, should have tried these other cats first
'Cause none of y'all niggas can fuck with me
And if your man wanna join, I got McGruff with me
We puff much izzy
I do shit that only tough men do
And them cats you with—fuck them too, I’ll buck them too
Be careful what you rush into, you lame-ass nigga
No dough, always on the train-ass nigga
Canal Street, 10-karat-chain-ass nigga
You got fucked upstate, you cupcake
How many dicks can your butt take?
I ran through every bitch in my path
I was fucking chicks in the ass when I was six-and-a-half
Yo, I’mma take you out your misery
And after this, nigga
Put you in the social study book 'cause you’re history

( Big L )