text: Big L:
  I drink Moet not Becks beer, I stay dressed in slick gear
  Peace to my homies in the gangsta lean, I see you when I get there
  And its a fact I keep a gat in my arm reach
  I charm freaks and bomb geeks from here to Palm Beach
  Im puttin rappers in the wheelchair, Big L is the villain
  You still fear, cause I be hangin in Harlem and my shit is for real here
  If you battle L you picked the wrong head
  I smash mics like cornbread, you cant kill me I was born dead
  And Im known to pull steel trigs and kill pigs
  I run with ill kids and real nigs who peel wigs
  My raps steady slammin, I keep a heavy cannon
  Its a new sherriff in town, and it aint Reggie Hammond
  2Pac:
  Now shits constantly hot, on my block, it never fails to be gunshots
  Cant explain a mothers pain, when her son drops
  Black male slipping in hail when will we prevail
  Fearing jail but crack sales got me living well
  And the systems suicidal with this Thugs Life
  Staying strapped forever trapped in this drug life
  God help me, cause Im starving, cant get a job
  So I resort to violent robberies, my life is hard
  Cant sleep cause all the dirt make my heart hurt
  Put in work and shed tears for my dead peers
  Mislead from childhood where I went astray
  Till this day I still pray for a better way
  Cant help but feel hopeless and heartbroke
  From the start I felt the racism cause Im dark
  Couldnt quit the bullshit make me represent
  Hit the bar and played the star, everywhere I went
  In my heart, I felt alone out here on my own
  I close my eyes and picture home
  Big L:
  Aiyyo, you betta flee Hobbes, or get your head flown three blocks
  L keep rappers hearts pumpin like Reeboks
  And every year I gain clout and my name sprouts
  Some brothersd still be vergins if the crack never came out
  I got the wild style, always been a foul child
  My guns go boom-boom, and yo guns go wow-pow
  Im known to have a hottie open, I keep the shottie smokin
  Front and get half the bones in your body broken
  And when it comes to gettin nookie Im not a rookie
  I got girls that make that chick Toni Braxton look like Whoopie
  I run with sturdy clicks Im never hittin dirty chicks
  Got thirty-five bodies, Buddy dont make it thirty-six
  Biggie:
  I know how it feel to wake up fucked up
  Pockets broke as hell, another rock to sell
  People look at you like youse the user
  Selling drugs to all the losers, mad buddha abuser
  But they dont know about your stress-filled day
  Baby on the way mad bills to pay
  Thats why you drink Tanqueray; so you can reminisce
  And wish, you wasnt livin so devilish, ssshit
  I remember I was just like you
  Smokin blunts with my crew, flippin over 62s
  Cause G-E-D, wasnt B-I-G
  I got P-A-I-D, thats why my moms hate me
  She was forced to kick me out, no doubt
  Then I figured out nicks went for twenty down South
  Packed up my tools for my raw power move
  Glock nineteen for casket and flower moves
  For chumps tryin to stop my flow
  And what they dont know will show on the autopsy
  Went to see Papi, to cop me a brick
  Asked for some consignment and he wasnt tryin to hear it
  Smoking mad Newports cause Im due in court
  For an assault, that I caught, in Bridgeport, New York
  Catch me if you can like the Gingerbread Man
  You better have your gat in hand, cause man
  Jadakiss:
  Uh, I learnt the game, I know what I want and Im in it
  The time is now, its gonna be up in a minute
  You look a  in the eye, you could tell if he tinted
  These fake rappers gettin by with these hell of a gimmicks
  They act like its all love, only love is your money
  So when its over , are you a thug or a dummy
  Im neither, but I been hot so long, it feels like I got a lifetime fever
  And I aint gotta spit, I could cough and still eat ya
  And f rap I make mills of reefer
  Im a man first, tired of punchin z, so Imma shoot z cuz my hands hurt
  And God is great, guard ya space
  One hand wash the other, both wash the face
  And I head crack so much, its hard to ace
  .38 revolver flow, its hard to trace, what!
  Fat Joe:
  Nigga I can see the coke in your nose
  This aint a movie, even he got his head blown on the globe
  And I was just about to find God
  But now that Mase is back, I think Id much rather find a menage
  And everybody talkin crazy how theyre AK spit
  But we know this investigatin, and they aint spray shit
  Not me, Im the truth homie, got the industry shook like
  Naw nigga, Joe gonna let em loose on me
  True Story, Im bringin the T back
  Even Roy Jones was forced to Lean Back
  My nigga Dre said grind cook
  Now we killin them hard niggas, who said I must of found Puns rhyme book
  Got bitches on top of the Phantom
  And the pinky got bling, like the ring around Saturn
  Cook coke, crack, niggas fiend for that
  And you already know the x is where the team be at