Rasco

(feat. Defari and Dilated Peoples)

Don't front
So many claim the fame, but never see the day
When lyrically they could even run, in the Triple-A's
This here's the major leagues, where big hits are guaranteed
The Ken Griffey turbo 850 professional MC
One more time that cat Defari
With a sting operation so blatant we call it franchise
Man sign, independent on some enterprise
It's time to shoot straight, innovate, and make the world realize
That mics get ripped, and spots get blown
I strive to be a Golden State all-time great, like J-Ro
I gets burned when the Technics turn on mix shows and mix tapes
That you hear when a car turns left on the street
You know that shit that make you bounce
'Nuf respect to Rasco and Evidence
Yo hold it down on the mound
I'm not like Hideo, don't got it Nomo
I'm more like Randy Johnson, guaranteed heat for sure

Yo this that where the big hits are guaranteed
This ain't no minor league affair this here the major leagues
You in the batter's box ready for combat (what?)
But when you step up to the plate better bring it fat

I throw spitballs and sliders, and hit batters with attitude
The signal's in, and my catcher's 'Fari Herut
I got to risin on the mound, talkin at pen-point
Retire the side, put on a jacket, ice my joints
And body parts, world-wide, Evidence is known
Have you fallin out the batter's box when curves are thrown
Precise angles, I disect the strategy, no cost
And just 'cause I choose to wander don't mean I'm lost
I got the button-up jersrey, Dilated written in cursive
I spill my heart to wax and put the in the open
Three men against nine players, yo, that shit's unheard of
Plus my eyes are open in takin' folks
One cat got on base but he didn't learn his lesson
I faked to first and picked him off at second
Patience is a virtue, yo he couldn't understand
That cat's out, time waits for no man
Bust it

Don't front
This where the big hits are guaranteed
This ain't no minor league affair this here the major leagues
You in the batter's box ready for combat (what?)
But when you step up to the plate

It be the large caliber rhyme
Ask yourself why try
Microphone slash Rasco Defari
Evidence, rhymes that set the precedence
Straight out the box, MCs to bobby sox
Major league, set to intrigue you small fee
Nothin' to the game, we doused them small flames
Take names
Head for the fence, we track prints
Track down the scent, then fold your whole tent
Stay bent
The illest on rhymes at all times
Call your bullpen, Rasco just pulled into the lot
Be strikin em out with one shot
While your pitch be hittin the plate at one spot
Down the pipe
The major lieutenant that earn stripes
Bet strap in, cadet to captain
Stand up, better yet, put them hands up
And watch the triple threat come fuck them plans up
Smack niggas, with lyrical gems that sayin hymns
Niggas still rappin 'bout clothes and car rims
Man debted
But dishin that corn, you get spreaded
We runnin on supreme, you runnin on unleaded
Couldn't match, you out the line-up, you been scratched
Sittin on the bench, not feelin you one pinch, in the trench
We loadin the guns to stack funds
Went from stackin ones to stackin them one-huns
Scored runs
The hotter the bat, the more fat
It's Dilated, Ras, 'Fari, we bust back
Like that, like that, like that, like that
Like that y'all, like that, check it

Yo this that where the big hits are guaranteed
This ain't no minor league affair this here the major leagues
You in the batter's box ready for combat (what?)
But when you step up to the plate better bring it fat
Don't front

(feat. Planet Asia)

[Phife] "So step up if you wanna keep your rep up"

[Planet Asia]
Focus hard, Yard intellect slang
World wide recognition with the picture in frame
Vocalist, quantum perfect movin motions melodic
Over oceans, overdosing off the cultures of product
Toastin this cut, react jazz cats be slappin glasses
Surrender to the method, yes I've kept it Yard Massive status
Avalanche rap clientele from ambushing
We move quick wit new shit to get the fans pushin
From out the dynast of the School Yard camp
We start gettin the microphone just like two large amps
I'm tellin it, whenever I'm posted with endo to blow
I aim at domes like Double-Oh-Seven, Nintendo 64
James Bond style, secret agent calm bomb threat
Cali merchant, methodist keepin your pom-pom's set
Up in the air like that, this be that black entertainment
And now I got you flashin back on raps that I came with

[Chorus]
[M.A.R.S.: x2] "Wit swollen pockets, we gon' take it back home"
"So step up if you wanna keep your rep up"

[Rasco]
It be me, Ras the mic grand imperial
Be killin these MC's that pump wack material
Bullshittin, bout to get their heads splitten, for real
When I'm rollin ten steps head to field
I the super dope master quotes
Hit ya'll in throat, be lyrics of wide scope
Go tell your friends, demand the vote
These niggas playahatin, can't make Ras to go
Now, we show em how we elevate
From the gate, Asia plus the Ras, we frustrate
Fantasize, we bringin it live, check the size
Of brothers enterprise, we breakin out the sides
Eyes scan the room, but this two man platoon
All set to meet em at high noon
Does set the blaze, lethal like the sun rays
Six days a week to Sunday's now

[Chorus x2]

[Planet Asia]
From out the dynast of the Massive ranks the Yard mad sarge
Eight bars of ever-ready for you wannabe stars
Lettin niggas know my purpose when it comes to the vibe
Victoriously crushin careers that's three times my size
Ceremonial Master, wit the Soul Father Ras
Causin colonial disaster, lettin history pass
Through the trash era, stages of the game gotta change
So Father Rasco, let these niggas know what's on your brain

[Rasco]
We smash ya'll, for bringin that small off the wall
Idle chit-chat, we peelin yo' wig back
Feel that, you got rhymes nigga, where your deal at?
Killin folks, then where's your steel at?
Perpetratin, like you the man, only got five fans
Test me and get smacked with five hands
Obey all commands, I execute the plans
While ya'll still thinkin of ways to stack grands
Five hundred thou, no sweat of the brow
The shit they did then, I'm doin it right now
BLOAW, bustin these shots off the top
The runaway train expressin it non-stop
Niggas ride coach, slow down for the approach
And bring a long toast for gettin yo' eggs poached
Even off the tone, top notch off the dome
It's me and Planet As, we takin it back home

[Chorus x2]