139 - Tony Touch
    (专辑: Harlem's Finest: A Freestyle History (Vol. I & Ii) - 2003)
    
    ["Big L" Lord Finesse]   [scratched during the 
intro]  ["1-3-9" Notorious B.I.G. Ten Crack Commandments]   [Intro: Big L]  Where I'm from  Yeah, Tony Touch in the 
house, yeah  Big L 
Harlem on the 
rise, 1 3 9 
 You ain't know!?  One love to my nigga McGruff, Mase Murda, Killa Kam  Rest in peace to my man Bloodshed  Live on baby, the 
spirit live on  Yeah BBO in the 
house  Yeah my men stand I'ma rock this shit  Check it out!   [Big L]  Yo, I 
be that smooth cat you never seen rolling with clowns  One of the 
few from Uptown that's holdin it down  Bitches be on me like I'm welfare, even rich ones  that live in Bel Air, is this Big L 
yeah, hell yeah  Word up, I 
use a 
chrome gat to push domes back  Watch how you talk when you call me, Feds got my phone tapped  This rap game, I 
put my life in it, chain got  mega ice in it, push an Infinite, chrome rims, light tinted  You can see pal, it's all about me now  Twenty G's a 
show bitch three thou just to freestyle  I 
made this cheese it didn't grow on trees  Can you hold somethin? Sure, you can hold on these  Yo I'm fat like the 
old Cray-on, smooth as Rayon  L 
is who the 
ladies stay on, baby play on  I 
stay jeweled up, pockets swelled up from banks I 
held up  Plenty bitch-ass niggaz Big L 
stuck  I 
never catch cold feet when I 
hold heat  We roll deep, with the 
Triple Black dogs in their old jeep  I 
catch a 
fag three o'clock in the 
morn  On the 
block all alone and put the 
glock to his dome  Tell him "Give it up quick, you nitwit, don't try to get slick  Or I'm a 
let this four-fifth spit and leave your shit split"  Prick, it ain't nothing decent about me  A 
true thug for real, you can ask the 
precinct about me  A 
rap junkie, don't try to play me like some flunky  Jewels be chunky, pockets lumpy, attitude grumpy  And mad niggaz be fronting the 
life  Popping mad shit, trying to be something they not  Your faggot ass better stay to dancing, don't even look at me  I 
might break your jaw just for glancing  I'm sick like Manson  In '97 Harlem kids is blowing  And we don't trip, we'll let a 
bitch starve til her ribs are showing