text: Flip funk in the UK
  Pass the ill fill
  And I can feel all the Flava
  Kicking from the UA- US neighbour
  Kick all the Flava
  Do the Mack do, what you wanna do, you savour
  This step is called the BRU to the T
  Bust the rhymes for free, I gets down
  Mack is inside your town
  Busting lyrics tourture like the missiles slow you down
  Sup with B.I.G? Pass the microphone to you so I can take a puff
  Who throw gats to Guiliani?
  Flows tighter than pigeon punani, try me, die G
  Dangerous, since my daddy bust me out the tip of his dick
  Biggie Smalls with the Wickedest shit
  Spit clips, niggas split like bananas
  Flavour like Tropicana; orange, mango, peach
  I strangle each
  Negro for they dough
  Niggas get to bendin, got two cases, one pending
  560 V-12 engine, niggas swimmin
  In 929 Mazdas, Tammy and Natasha
  The menage-a-trois is at my crib
  Like Ill and Al Skratch smokin 50 sacks in the back of Acs
  Windows cracked, so sit back relax
  Craig, crush the hash, the Berettas in the stash
  Well, BANG! lets kick it off like a butt
  More fakes than Allen front to leave you lost like a treasure hunt
  From now on, yall crossed the land
  Craig Macks the upper hand with more rhymes than the beach got sand
  Youre an MC, yo my original job is that mistaken rapsll guarantee you look like a slob
  I got more rhymes than kids got the measles
  You shooting needles, we are bigger than The Beatles
  I crush , hush with the Super Sunday rush
  Were trotting to the cot cause your style turns back to mush
  I flip out the funk off the frame
  Now you know my name- Mackalicious, aint you got a king?
  Before 10:00 Westwood, Im no good
  Shaking from here to back to Breckwood
  On One FM rap show, the illest flow that you ever heard on your radio
  Biggie Smalls, my motherfucking man, take the microphone and kick the wicked like a man
  I went from construction Timbs to Acs with rims
  Flipping mixtapes to bitches feeding me grapes
  Peep my mind state, Big Poppa flow is lethal
  That weed make my ass wanna KILL FOUR PEOPLE!
  Forget the dames, gimme the range and the wain
  My niggas up the pawn drop top jag walls
  Blindfold you when you step in the car
  Thats the superstar status apparatus, more wings than clutches
  Cease roll the hash, its in the pocket with the nine
  Lick off the wine as my seats recline
  I want a presidential Rollie
  So I crush MCs, the guacamole making Robin scream Holy Molly!
  Big Poppa, off the caper, Im that paper crusader
  Playing Sega in a widebody blazer
  And if you dont know now you know
  My flow you pick like an afro
  Wet like Soul Glo
  ...Uh, you dont stop...
  Big Poppa, throwing niggas off of cliffs, smoking spliffs
  Disappear with my bitch in a Mitsubishi Eclipse
  Read my lips, I kill you, blood will spill too
  Did I say thank you? I grant you
  Three wishes cause I be the genie
  Niggas is ass out like fat bitches in bikinis
  Read between the lines, see what I see?
  I see the diary of a sick bastard
  Junior M.A.F.I.A blaster
  Rugers on the hips, bought coke to fill chips
  More burners to fill clips, check it...
  Putting coke in corner store bodegas
  In the back room playing Sega Streetfighter 2
  Im inviting you, get your writing crew and their dopest rhymes
  Ill get up in that ass every time
  Lyrically Im untouchable, uncrushable
  Getting mad blunted in a 600 Benz
  Ask your friends whos the illest
  Licking shots niggas screaming Biggie Smalls tried to kill us
  I get ill...
  Its time for a funk refill of rhymes that I kill as I shoot em in the grill
  MCs, Im not impressed
  Your best dont just throw your chest
  Wheres the bullet proof or the wool vest, wont matter
  Your chest will shatter
  On the tip of my dick baby you are the badder
  MCs now feel funktified
  They tried but now they died
  Biggie bring big bowls of beef
  Backing bitch niggas down burners bring bundles of belief
  Common thief slash drug chief, syndicated
  Went from 10k to 24k, competition hated, J.M. sedated
  Quarantine
  Big for president, busting shots past your spleen
  9 millimeter dreams, Mac 11 nightmares
  Which MCs do you fear? Big Poppa, Junior M.A.F.I.A, nuff said
  Niggas disrespect just I dead
  Just I dead
  MCs will turn red from the shot I lick, Ceaser sick
  Too much shagging, too much drinking, too much thinking
  MCs are blinking the third eye when I pass by
  Mackalicious got the sweet potato fried for you motherfucker, I... touch the microphone
  I do or die, make the hardest motherfucker cry when a MC pass by
  I flip rhymes off the top of my head just like Raid I spray MCs until they dead
  A vocal volcanic microphone, robotic tonic atonic
  The microphone is mine so MCs panic
  I get down for my ground
  You could see I met James Brown in your town
  Flipping funk on a Friday on my malware
  In the highway, takes MCs by the driveway, driveway
  Slow ill flow, so you know, head to toe
  Ill bend flows when I go...
  From flow to top ten... to dough...
  Flow ill flow, Badboy down said so
  So Biggie Smalls my man, take command
  Turn each MC you see into sand
  I stretch the funk like my name was Plastic Man
  Eating MCs out the can in my hip-hop wonderland
  I got the venom like the snakes got the venom, I put it in em
  Faces turn bluer than my denim
  But dont look down though my name is David Banner
  Flipping green on the mic cause they cant control my gamma
  So stop hogging us, Macks the erogenous
  So rap full grown, see us the acrogynous
  There aint a rapper liver than the rebel
  My voice dont carry treble, eat MCs like a vegetable
  Crack a few stepping on the pedal
  Heavy off the medal, lifes stronger waiting for the sun to settle
  King MC, for that I thank the LORD
  Ill vocal chords sometimes you get the style bored
  As we break it down, Biggie Smalls represent Brooklyn your hometown
  Niggas in my faction dont like asking questions
  Strictly gun testing, coke measuring
  Giving pleasure in the Benzito
  Hitting fannies, spending chips at Mannys
  Hope you creeps got receipts, my peeps get dirty like cleats
  Run up in your crib, wrap you in your Polo sheets
  6 up in your wig-piece, nigga decease
  Mxwaah! May you rest in peace
  With my Sycamore style, more sicker than yours
  .44 and 54 draws
  As my pilot, steers my Lear- yes, my dear
  Shits official, only the Feds I fear
  Heres a tissue, stop your blood clot crying
  The kids, the dog, everybody dying, no lying
  So dont you get suspicious
  Im Big dangerous youre just a little vicious
  As I leave my competition, respirator style
  Climb the ladder to success escalator style
  Hold yall breath, I told yall
  Death controls yall, Big dont fold yall
  I spit phrases thatll thrill you
  Youre nobody til somebody kills you
  Your reign on the top was short like leprechauns
  As I crush so-called willies, thugs, and rapper-dons
  Get in that ass, quick fast, like Ramadan
  Its that rap phenomenon Don Dada
  Fuck Poppa, you got to call me Francis M.H. White
  Intake light tokes, tote iron
  Was told in shootouts, stay low, keep firing
  Keep extra clips for extra shit
  Whos next to flip on that cat with that grip on rap
  The most shady, Frankie baby
  Aint no telling where I may be
  May see me in D.C. at Howard Homecoming
  With my man Capone, dumbing, fucking something
  You should know my steelo
  Went from 10 Gs for blow to 30 Gs a show
  To orgies with hoes I never seen before
  So, Jesus, get off the Notorious
  Penis before I squeeze and bust
  If the beef between us, we can settle it
  With the chrome and metal shit
  Make it hot like a kettle get
  Youre delicate, you better get - who sent ya?
  You still pedal shit, I got more rides than Great Adventure