Run the Line

Lyrics

[Intro: Mandrill & Erick Sermon] "Last year, about this time The band went to San Francisco We had a concert on a street called Polk Street It was a most beautiful happening The vibes were good, the women were there Everybody was vibing! We'd now like to share this with you with a thing called—" "Run down the line" [Verse 1: Rasco] Yo I tell you niggas what (what?) You better stay home, and lay your ass in the cut (cut) I'm goin for heads Lay you for dead Foldin emcees like bedspread And you ain't had this much milk since you was breastfed Gallons on courts For sport, I bust bubbles on the double Destroyin these fools who wanna give me trouble Bald with stubble Six feet, women be lovin it Brothers be diggin' n stickin' but I be shovin it Ready unload with fat tracks from lootkids Doin my thang since 16 in '86 Hey yo, saying that the West ain't it (what?) Nigga, I'll smack you in your mouth for that shit Let me show you what I claim I'm doin my thang But everybody out in Cali don't gangbang You better open up them mics And get out my face Give me some space Better break out them old Nikes You better run for the crib Cause runnin your jibs I'll send you home with a broke back and cracked rib Microphone's in control So ready, explode Motherfuckers need to punch up the flexcode [Verse 2: Rasco] Heaven forbid I rip kids, get they face blown Bring 'em in packs and I can rip 'em by the caseloads Ready, explode On contact for that contract Flash these lyrics and ready for mic-combat Who wanna step to get a rep Playin double jet Me and my man be on these tracks at the intersect Mass confuse Hit your fellas off with bad news (tell 'em what?) Tell 'em you tried, but I just blew you out your damn shoes Here's this mic, you can praise it if you need to Should've been there when your brother really needed you It's too late, had to blast off like 38's Food for thought, but don't be eatin off no dirty plates I keep it clean and always on the up and up Nigga, you soft and your rhymes need the toughin'-up No gun chatter on the platter, cause it doesn't matter Me and the Wolf collaborate just to make it fatter You better scatter like the roaches with the lights on I tell these niggas, "Don't you bother turnin mics on" Goin deep, like quarterbacks on they long throw And Time Waits For No Man, label Stones Throw The LP, in '97 you'll be seein me Gradual shots to your nog got you seein three I'm runnin' rhymes, while the clock is steady runnin' time Crab emcees get in your blocks and start runnin' lines [Verse 3: Rasco] Comin in thirds Brothers shouldn't say another word Kickin your rhymes, but they was verses already heard Give me respect, it be the Ras with the triple threat Smash eject, cause already know what's comin next So I predict that all these brothers gon' be ridin dicks Break out the axe, because it's time that you get 86 Playin these scrubs in nightclubs like they legendary I'm first class, and everybody else is secondary But don't you worry, all these brothers got your vision blurry Ready to fix your cateracts with the fattest tracks (Fix 'em up) Keep it intact with tight screws Roll with tight crews (Tight crews) And now you missin, and your face is on tonight's news So pay your dues Don't nobody make it overnight You heard the single and you thought that it was over, right? NO, cause I can do it to you every time Me and Peanut Butter Wolf got 'em runnin' lines