Big Daddy Kane - Brooklyn Style... Laid Out Lyrics
Chorus: big daddy kaneCome on yall and feel the grooveGet on down and make your moveWelcome to the funkiestBrooklyn style, laid out like thisChorus[big daddy kane]I kicks the flavor good, to represent the neighborhoodWhere I come from, and thats the place of brooklynWhere the grimies are born and bredAnd bullets are like eyeballs, two to the head[scoob]Well is it brownsville? time to represent for the mapWhere the peeps smoke blunts and like to wear mad gold capsThe party addict about to explodeFrom the 1-1-2, the double-3 ill zip code[big daddy kane]Parlayin on the corner, drinkin 40s shootin cee-loIts a brooklyn thing, aight? you know our steeloAnd for those who just dont know how it goPlay like a substitute teacher and act like you know[scoob]So yo, who wanna set it? you better kick your best gYou and your whole entourage couldnt test meI represent for the fo mainAnd if youre not a booty bandit, then niggaz cant hangChorus[big daddy kane]Now, lets get straight down to the pointI represent for this brooklyn joint, baby pah, where were takin it toMakin a few dollars dont mean you gotta forgetWhere you come from and try to be someone, that youre really notAnd front with what you gotYoure gonna be looked at as a black man still so keep it realWhat type of mission can I say you on?Because you musta done changed to some grey poupon, hehIm really happy to see you blew upBut always remember my man you grew upIn the pjs all your life, in a broken home(scoob: well alright now)Up in the pjs all your life, keepin it strong, what!I be the louis ave livin, live long lastin loverBonafied black brother, word to the motherSkilled at trades at hand with those who madeThe man with support and always stayed a fanMy dialectic style is perfectedIn ways you cant imagine rap bein acceptedFunkll slam like a doper jam, popsIm takin mine like taxes with uncle samSo check out the asiatic type of flowLike water in the nile, but its brooklyn styleChorus[scoob]Yo, this is big scoob, no practiceIm flippin on niggaz like little kids on that mattressYou know my style, baby pah from the pjsMy lyrics so dope, they too fat for local djsSo hear me out, no doubt, no need for screaminMy boys in the back, clockin your jewels, and they scheaminWhy did they step to me, I hit em, bow, bu-dowKnocked out his fronts cause the kid was mad fragileNo need for beef chief Im rollin mad deepSo pick up your teeth, I got him shakin like a leafNot tryin to scare you, I just wanna aware youI bet you wont even look at my face (what what what) I dare youYo nigga please, yo Im nice with theseWhile youre guardin your grill, Ill be beatin up your kidneysMe and my boys with the fat tec 9sWith my joint *****ed back, in case a punk tried to take minesWhere Im from theres no need for hesitationWe ***** and squeeze, now wheres the doctor for this patient?Hes drippin blood and now hes down to his last breathBut he wont make it, cause he knows that my joint is defThe ill, type of brooklyn artistWho rocks the har-dest, regard-lessWho you know and where youre from I pull your file(how? ) brooklyn styleChorus
