Yeah.
Back again.
And now the competition begins.
Grand Imperial.
His name is...
Soulfather Rascal.
And wait till you hear this.
Yo, check.
Our capital punish brothers that run it.
Can only write rhymes anytime they get blunted.
We be at the spot chillin' while y'all stillin'.
Niggas still walkin', Rascal is four-wheelin'.
Only built for speed, yes indeed.
27 years old, with no seed.
I'm a raw breed, but still got miles to feed.
So don't be givin' me * I don't need.
I make the head hurt,
from the super-duper legwork.
Now these brothers be wantin' the red shirt.
I bring it to the chest when I surpass the rest.
Now a different story when I come blast the vest.
Teflon spittin' in Britain, I stab kitten.
Comin' out your face sideways is forbidden.
Better get to gettin', I swat like badminton.
Soon as niggas open they mouth,
I start shittin'.
Right down they neck,
they throat the whole nine.
Seen you fool-scopin' my plans the whole time.
Said I couldn't rhyme,
that's funny,
I stack money.
Women didn't want it, but now they yell,
honey.
Bring them to the house,
watch them come out the blouse.
Unzip the pants, then watch the
snake dance.
Assume the stance, cash in advance.
I got the full package,
but watch the right hand.
Ain't no time to be caught,
start control the crowd.
Hold up, so we can get to the music.
You know we gonna blow up.
Ain't no time to be caught,
start control the crowd.
It's the five minute drill,
but still we stack bills.
Take you to the shop to fix them broke wheels.
Tell you how it feels to starve with no bills.
Bring it to the front, the pump with no frills.
All extra * can get the back split.
Razz be the brother that women relax with.
I do a back flip, then pirouette and jack.
And plus be the nigga that never lost the bet.
Television sets ain't big enough to see.
And now my career ain't big enough for three.
Still down with them,
can talk and laugh with them.
But tell you one thing,
can't split it in half with them.
Half of one third to me sounds absurd.
I'd rather keep a hundred percent to pay rent.
Lay out the prints, the plans to stay grand.
And keep the joint jumping from Philly to San Fran.
Never gave a damn how hard y'all can slam.
Broke out the mic to smoke your half gram.
150 pounds with worldwide respect.
Be chilling at the crib while Wolf signs the check.
Hold up, so we can get to the music.
You know we gonna blow up.
Ain't no time to be caught,
start control the crowd.
1998,
Soulfather.
The new and exciting B.B.
Wolf.
On the ones and the twos.
White crews get bruised.
Check us out, y'all.
Check us out, y'all.