Next Up

Lyrics

[Intro: Marley Marl] Gawd-DAYUM! I don't know what y'all been thinking 'bout But I think this right here is about to shut dem damn haters down!! [Verse 1: Big Daddy Kane] I'm from the streets that make niggas walk slow, talk low With white chalk-o, mi casa be siete uno ocho Brooklyn motherfucker, handle this Pardon my Spanish and French (Brooklyn baby!) Okay, I stay clever like Mayweather with laid leather 'Til your face sever, one of the greatest ever Beyond ringing bells, my name's so demanding Shit, I got the swagger that'll leave Dakota fanning (That boy still standing!) I hope you niggas over standing; I stay sucker-free The next Kane up in the game, you ain't got enough to be Your career last a week, that'll be luckily Fuck wit' me, the rap game'll need protective custody (AHH!) I'm the same thug to be, surrounded with women Gave the game True Religion before you found it in denim Feel the Wrath of Kane and you cannot escape The hip-hop version of The Ring, and you just watched the tape (Next up!) [Verse 2: Bun B] And keep your eyes on the niggas in noir Triple black in the candy painted car, it's the color of war Me and my brother on par with nann nigga We trill workin the wheel, understand, nigga? (Understand?) I smother and split a bitch down to the tendon High pressure, if you don't break your ass bendin' I'm way past sendin' in my series of warnings You flex with me tonight, playa – you dead by the mornin (Woo!) Bun Beater the best ever, breathin' or deceased From the South to the Midwest, Cali to the East Go to any city, nigga, (All of 'em!) and bring my name up I bet I eat the best rapper they got in the game up Call a nigga up, email him, or chirp him Make a meal out his motherfuckin' ass and then burp him (DAYUM!) Don't fuck around, I'm not your lil' homey I'm the king of the underground, so act like you know me (Next up!) [Verse 3: Kool G. Rap] We bench steppin, big reppin' We givin' kids Smith & Wessons, lessons You get left in a sketchin' Eff with the Midwest, click Texas (Yo, watch, who dat?) G. and Daddy Kane, the click testers (Word) Poppin' til death, I've bought private planes and swift jets'es Niggas know what it is When they see the ball cap and a slick Stetson (Woo!) Turn your strip Lex into a movie clip from the Westerns Shit from the Uzi clip lift up your midsection (Tell 'em, G. Rap!) G will introduce you to the nose on the Glock, fam Give you metal jackets like clothes from a rock band Multiple holes, you get those in your top, man (Oww!) High roller dose, some hoes on the cock plan Froze, but never cold, he rolls with a hot hand We stacking cheese 'til the rubberbands pop, scrams And I ain't breakdancin' when I'm in the pop stance Bank pounds like James Brown, give 'em hot pants (Next up!) [Verse 4: Pimp C] I make your gurl get down and open it up Put my dick up in they jaws and go in they butt I'm a young hot street flame They call me Sweet James Or call me Sir Jones, two hundred dollar cologne (Uh!) Bond 9, or Issey Miyaki I got your girl mind, meat strong like saki I ain't Rocky but I keep a rocket Fuck around, I'll knock your tuna fish out of socket Your bitch out of pocket, she under pimp arrest She reckless eyeballing, watchin my top fall in On my Lambourghini with the three screens Fettucini, linguini, shrimp and a bowl of lean! What you know about gettin cross country? Nigga, your piece big, but your diamond look monkey You need to take that shit back Them ain't no Emmit diamonds What the fuck you done to that? Bitch, what the fuck you done to that?! [Outro: Marley Marl] Now, damn! Somebody need to beat Jacob's ass over that!