Dummy Smacks

[Verse One: Chubb Rock] The tools these days to go past platinum is such You need the street based doe, corporate blow and bucks Talent gets fucked Mediocre cocks get sucked Shit I wanna get sucked that makes my nuts get slush On the L with a [?] cap I push the Range Rov' X-Men style on the L, I don't like the light bulb I try this style Tried niggas never tried to try me In the deepest hood I'm extremely safe like whitey The question, where have ya been? Is your phlegm still acidic? Think you're Wolverine? Forget it Brooklyn born, Flatbush be keeping it warm [?] other people thought I was gone, never that [Verse Two: Mr. Live] Now can ya, see it? Your bogus style easily defeated You have now been unseated or your jewels now depleted But get superseded by the funk, it's the lyrical Breaking down your mineral, fucking up your physical Your money can't help so now you turn spiritual Playing to God that Mr. Live will stop lynching you Sorry It's a prophecy that I'ma exterminate Weak ones I terminate Smash and eradicate Skate back to Brooklyn, smoke a dutch then I levitate Generate venom, your bogus style ditto [?] cause in a sec' can get gone Cause your ass can get caught up like a Popeye tune [Verse Three: Chubb Rock] It be the Rocka man, Mr. Live on a hot track We can get up and change colors like IMAX The legend, your eardrum remembers the deep vocal Three octaves, no singing though, similar to Total No beef with the game, the aims the same Can't fall cause there's No Half Steppin' to Kane Pure war, if you want war then son bad timing If you slip up on your verse we'll be Saving Private Rhyming And I'm in, a league of my own remember the throne That I sat on in Treat 'Em, your ego thought you could beat him The ambition leaves you with more pots to piss in But there's a new clock, Len, Live plus the Rock is hot [Verse Four: Mr. Live] Lyrical juggernaut Hotter than that Coach bag your mother got Me and your girl mad tight because we fuck a lot I hate the deacon cause the nigga gets stuck a lot Watch your back in Fort Green you gotta duck a lot Because we bust a lot [?] we stuff a lot of nastiness Brooklyn DJ, he be the jazziest Live be the flashiest like Rosebud whispering Listening to [?] since I had your tongue blistering Mr. [?] and Rock, big Len nigga duck You see Chubb in the place and you say, "What the fuck?" Happy days are here again steady beaming It's the Live, mega fortified with the fat demon [Interlude] You know there's something I wanted to say for a long long time [Verse Five: Chubb Rock] Bread basket niggas be out loafing When my shit drops your girl will be US Open When my Benz shines I might even start boasting Platinum shit then your career will be coasting I'm not a fun nigga, I don't be joking You can Jim Carry that shit away, smoking All that 2Pac shit leaving Oakland Whether you're weeded, dusted or just toking Don't mess with me son or be provoking Or I'll numb those sons your shit's be broken Generation X please stop poking Fuck metro card son, just buy token Uh [Interlude] As if my [?] are gonna around or something. I feel almost nauseous. I remember standing up there thinking to myself, "What in the world is a matter with you?" [Verse Six: Mr. Live] Now you can be acrobatic, maybe perform magic Make a nigga Houdini can never escape my verbal matic Tragic if I see casualties or leave fallacies Smoking like a challenge be, it be your sanity Nobody as bad as me Your mic will even know it Fucking Bush is in the office, niggas should've went and voted You know it So niggas after money get your [?] It's getting hot, don't sleep when this shit happens We going back to Wild Style and crack vial No city funding, heard the youth done in "Son that nigga preaching" You ain't got to see the Live George Bush be taking you back to '85