Rematch In The Patterson Projects

Lyrics

[Intro: James Brown sample] One! Two! Three! Four! Hit it! [Lord Finesse] Uh! Uh, uh 2003 Lord Finesse [Verse 1: Lord Finesse] I used to coach the team, see, I'm better on the mic Find an ace up my sleeve, never on the dice Pushin' a 2002 if you shout and you stare Sittin' on 110 if you countin' the spare See, ya out ya mind tryna face the God Your rhyme is like an empty prison — a waste of bars No time to flash, see, I scrape the squad We don't ask for shit, we just take what's ours Got the skills of titanium, straight to the cranium Try to play me and we can go to war like Iranians The deep cat, I speak rap As long as the beat phat, my shit'll be off the meat rack Lord Finesse — don't harass the God Spit four bars and piss on like half ya squad Sorta savage, I don't gay bash, I slaughter faggots You niggas playin' Russian Roulette with automatics See, on the street, yo, I'm top of the rank Three words when I get the dice: "Stop the bank" Bet against me? Yeah, you get your cash tooken Even my street team promote nothin' but ass whoopins How can you win in this world so cruel? When ya learn the game, niggas change the rules Ya gotta keep cool, get down and make moves Show and prove in this land where cash rules If money makes the world go 'round, so be it I been broke before, ain't tryna repeat it If your plan ain't talkin' 'bout grands, I don't need it Your vision ain't picturin' C.R.E.A.M.? Can't see it! [Verse 2: Percee P] A rap battle I can't be in 'Cause I'll flip on the bastards like a gymnastic champion I entertain well, amateurs lose stamina Tryna examine the lyrics that damage your brain cells Yeah, I pulled it — the gat's trigger on fake black niggas And wack niggas makin' bullshit Y'all niggas gotta quit poppin' a lot of shit I'm not a bit impressed with your raps, so snap out of it Foes with audacity tryna smash the P Won't last with me usin' they full capacity Rhymes I give ya flow like a river with a high tide I glide swifter and different from others Take a note or two 'fore your shit flops And you get dropped by the Hip-Hop's Quotable Catch the pro at this and Kodak this 'Cause your wackness can't flow like this, so go practice Y'all ain't lyrically wit' it, physically fitted to take a hit I'll break your shit and make you quit if you try to get it My rap recital on tracks are vital That's why no one attacks and tries to snatch my title If you're clever, never play me close, champ When I kick it, I get wicked I'm lickin' and stickin' it like a post stamp It takes six, I can make hits a cappella I should sell a million, never livin' like Rockefeller Got deals in the rap field The reason I got bills 'cause I got ill usin' rap skills And yes, y'all, as I bless y'all It's me Percee P and Lord Finesse, y'all, fresh, y'all [Sample scratched & repeated] Boogie Down Bronx!