Defari - Major League Lyrics
<defari>Dont frontSo many claim the fame, but never see the dayWhen lyrically they could even run, in the triple-asThis heres the major leagues, where big hits are guaranteedThe ken griffey turbo 850 professional mcOne more time that cat defariWith a sting operation so blatant we call it franchiseMan sign, independent on some enterpriseIts time to shoot straight, innovate, and make the world realizeThat mics get ripped, and spots get blownI strive to be a golden state all-time great, like j-roI gets burned when the technics turn on mix shows and mix tapesThat you hear when a car turns left on the streetYou know that shit that make you bouncenuf respect to rasco and evidenceYo hold it down on the moundIm not like hideo, dont got it nomoIm more like randy johnson, guaranteed heat for sureYo this that <? > where the big hits are guaranteedThis aint no minor league affair this here the major leaguesYou in the batters box ready for combat (what? )But when you step up to the plate better bring it fat<evidence>I throw spitballs and sliders, and hit batters with attitudeThe signals in, and my catchers fari herutI got to risin on the mound, talkin at pen-pointRetire the side, put on a jacket, ice my jointsAnd body parts, world-wide, evidence is knownHave you fallin out the batters box when curves are thrownPrecise angles, I disect the strategy, no costAnd just cause I choose to wander dont mean Im lostI got the button-up jersrey, dilated written in cursiveI spill my heart to wax and put the <? > in the openThree men against nine players, yo, that shits unheard ofPlus my eyes are open in takin folks <? >One cat got on base but he didnt learn his lessonI faked to first and picked him off at secondPatience is a virtue, yo he couldnt understandThat cats out, time waits for no manBust itDont frontThis where the big hits are guaranteedThis aint no minor league affair this here the major leaguesYou in the batters box ready for combat (what? )But when you step up to the plate<rasco>It be the large caliber rhymeAsk yourself why tryMicrophone slash rasco defariEvidence, rhymes that set the precedenceStraight out the box, mcs to bobby soxMajor league, set to intrigue you small feeNothin to the game, we doused them small flamesTake namesHead for the fence, we track printsTrack down the scent, then fold your whole tentStay bentThe illest on rhymes at all timesCall your bullpen, rasco just pulled into the lotBe strikin em out with one shotWhile your pitch be hittin the plate at one spotDown the pipeThe major lieutenant that earn stripesBet strap in, cadet to captainStand up, better yet, put them hands upAnd watch the triple threat come ***** them plans upSmack niggas, with lyrical gems that sayin hymnsNiggas still rappin bout clothes and car rimsMan debtedBut dishin that corn, you get spreadedWe runnin on supreme, you runnin on unleadedCouldnt match, you out the line-up, you been scratchedSittin on the bench, not feelin you one pinch, in the trenchWe loadin the guns to stack fundsWent from stackin ones to stackin them one-hunsScored runsThe hotter the bat, the more fatIts dilated, ras, fari, we bust backLike that, like that, like that, like thatLike that yall, like that, check itYo this that <? > where the big hits are guaranteedThis aint no minor league affair this here the major leaguesYou in the batters box ready for combat (what? )But when you step up to the plate better bring it fatDont front<repeat><scratching, fades out>
