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 n*ggas walk slow, talk low
With white chalk-o, mi casa be siete uno ocho
Brooklyn motherf*cker, 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
sh*t, I got the swagger that'll leave Dakota fanning
(That boy still standing!)
I hope you n*ggas 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
f*ck 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 n*ggas in noir
Triple black in the candy painted car, it's the color of war
Me and my brother on par with nann n*gga
We trill workin the wheel, understand, n*gga? (Understand?)
I smother and split a b*tch 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, n*gga, (All of 'em!) and bring my name up
I bet I eat the best rapper they got in the game up
Call a n*gga up, email him, or chirp him
Make a meal out his motherf*ckin' ass and then burp him
(DAYUM!) Don't f*ck 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
n*ggas 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
sh*t 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 c*ck 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 di*k 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
f*ck around, I'll knock your tuna fish out of socket
Your b*tch 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?
n*gga, your piece big, but your diamond look monkey
You need to take that sh*t back
Them ain't no Emmit diamonds
What the f*ck you done to that?
b*tch, what the f*ck you done to that?!

[Outro: Marley Marl]
Now, damn! Somebody need to beat Jacob's ass over that!