The Get Down

[Intro: Dee] These fake ass niggas better recognize Ya'll don't know about the squad Yo, yo, yo [Dee] Ya'll niggas wanna get it poppin' off? Son, I spit with the force like a 44 shot let off Believe me, my automatic tongue don't jam, I never heard of this man But I'm about to murder this man, a verbalist man Equiped with metaphors, that spit that ill shit You and your click couldn't deal with me, uh My murder click, me, G, Kwan and Face Never hesitate to make shit up like pool tape You need a miracle fucking with this Imperial nigga That's mad lyrical from the physical to the spiritual Sixteen bars of hell, on Dateline Once the track split, I react and rape the bassline [Chorus: Q-Plex] Yo, we spit one, clip one, hit one You missed, son, send a kite to get done As long as the clip run, we bound to make it stick, son We done when the clip done, never run when the clip, done [G-Note$] Lay the smackdown on clowns, we can get down, however You wanna do it, with guns, rhymes, beats Yo, the stove taste better than your flow, pa You sound like a bitch, your mic skills wear bras Yeah, you lyrical, nigga, but that don't mean shit I rock street, it's nothing to make a hit song You know how I do, I gets it on and popping I know how you do, rocking thong thong thongs I write like a beast, King Kong, kid Me and my niggas spit verses back and forth like ping pong Ring the fucking alarm, it's fire in here We evaporate all that bullshit you spit Go back to the lab, meditate, dig in the crates You need to sample some James Brown, and fuck with these sounds You know how I do, it's G-Note$, the hottest nigga out No doubt, it's nothing [Chorus] [Babyface Fensta] I keep it thorough, rep my borough to the fullest You ain't the illest or the realest You ain't a killa, you Inc a Murda You think, your pen's explosive, you ain't ready for war I give it to you Raw like WWF You Stone Cold, like The Rock? It doesn't matter, do you smell what's cooking? Your ass is grass, you just a preliminary bout I'm the main event, your figures ain't major You a c-minor, you all sound like little Jigga's Since the death of Biggie, everybody jiggy Wake up, smell the coffee, you commit suicide For silver and tails of gold My niggas want platinum plaques, fuck that I'mma sell out, I want all my products sold out [Chorus 2X]