They said I wasn't rough, too much dough, he got an old flow
Everytime you open your mouth you feel your elbow
I'll catch a felony on top of a melody
Brought a family, and dough woulda been so happily
I'll beat the Laker off of a clown and chop him down to size
Sick of all these wanna-be bad guys
Made loot, many g's, bought a crib where I live
Told my kids yo, damn, that I'm a fugitive
Runnin' from the streets and our beats the sad sheets
A sunny beach, video hoes within reach
Farmers Boulevard liberty and forty is gone
And E ain't put nobody on
When I came back to smack and give 'em a welt
Like belts makin' them strip and all of that
Punks better run for they guns
I'm not the one and can't nobody rule until L's done
It's the L baby, baby, the L baby, baby
It's the L baby, baby, the heart
It's the L baby, baby, the L baby, baby
It's the L baby, baby, the heart
It's the L baby, baby, the L baby, baby
It's the L baby, baby, the heart
It's the L baby, baby, the L baby, baby
It's the L baby, baby, the heart
I worked the Murphy on the mix
What's wrong with these stupid lunatics playin' Joint" for a drag-bit
I'm harder than find in a jar
People wasn't rippin' these records, all of y'all would get robbed
I'm comin' straight out the barrel with your name on my arm
Blowin' the hoody of your head like a home-made bomb
I'm big and so you figured I would relax
Don't ever sleep I'll wake ya up with an axe
The Boulevard ain't safe for my beats drop the herb
Twenty times harder without a curse
Makin' rats flee, hardcore - and that's me
The baddest soloist in hip-hop history
L-L-C-to-the-O-to-the-O-L-J, so what'cha wanna know
Throw ya in the MVP on your knees G
A crowbar in your mouth now ask me
It's the L baby, baby, the L baby, baby
It's the L baby, baby, the heart
It's the L baby, baby, the L baby, baby
It's the L baby, baby, the heart
It's the L baby, baby, the L baby, baby
It's the L baby, baby, the heart
It's the L baby, baby, the L baby, baby
It's the L baby, baby, the heart
Take it to the bridge
Who's the man on the mic
Who's the man on the mic
Who's the man on the mic
Who's the man on the mic
Who's the man on the mic
Who's the man on the mic
Who's the man on the mic
Who's the man on the mic
My territory's hard, I'm rollin' with one railguard
The microphone is my credit card
Blowin' your boots off, freeload you're too soft
Usin' a butcher's knife to make your whole root call
I heard somebody said the skills wasn't good
I'm lettin' eighty tigers loose in this neighborhood
I pop the willies on my bike, lickin' shots
And laughin' everytime you sneak a weak paragraph in
You blowin' your mind, blunted and cocoa and time
Ain't nuttin' changed, you wrote another wack rhyme
I'll leave your bullet-bittled body on the curb
Lookin' slerve with a t-shirt
Don't disturb the herb
You're the next contestant tonight
Come on down to my shake clown the slice is right
Rip your jaw out the socket, been rockin' for years
Tell the troop, you're still look with E and drop it
As I deaf-tify your eye, competition tris to mass my size
Buryin' the acts and your back will be rhymes and tracks
While you're sleepin' like a sleaze-stack
Believe tat
It's the L baby, baby, the L baby, baby
It's the L baby, baby, the heart
It's the L baby, baby, the L baby, baby
It's the L baby, baby, the heart
It's the L baby, baby, the L baby, baby
It's the L baby, baby, the heart
It's the L baby, baby, the L baby, baby
It's the L baby, baby, the heart
Come on, come on, come on, come on, come on, come on
Come on, come on, come on, come on, come on
It's the L baby, baby, the L baby, baby
It's the L baby, baby, the heart
It's the L baby, baby, the L baby, baby
It's the L baby, baby, the heart
It's the L baby, baby, the L baby, baby
It's the L baby, baby, the heart
It's the L baby, baby, the L baby, baby
It's the L baby, baby, the heart
compositores: BEVERLEY SMITH, GUY CHAMBERS, CHAKA KHAN
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