LL Cool J - Mr. Smith Lyrics
Intro:Uh mr. smith, mr smith, mr smithUh mr smith, it's the bomb y'knowhuti'msayin? mr smithMr smith, word up kid, yeah mr smith, check it outVerse 1:I'm goin to the top leavin smoke in my trail***** ass gangstas put that ass on saleAnd even if i'm twice as expensive as the restWhen i go for dolo you ain't checkin for nuttin lessMy strategy is splittin brain cavity'sIt's ya majesty bringin you a tragedyYeah, on the butcher block slice her like a oxWhen it's time to get down, nigga i jam like a glockI bust thru all types of red tape and sue papesNiggas come old but they always wanna infiltrateI'm cuttin snakes thru the belly witta icepickAnd scoopin hotties, a strong aisle of flip tripsIt's the rebirth of murkin niggas once againI drain with ink and put your blood in my penI'm breakin ribs til somethin givesA nigga got to live and mr smith is power god, kidChorus:Mr smith you got the shit sewed upWork ya thang baby, show em how to blow up*repeat x3*Verse 2:What? you wanna do what? you lack the vitalityOriginality, so face realityI'm on some ole wild shit, ya niggas can't get witMatter of fact, mornin yawn and suck a dickNah hold up, the ***** is goin on?All these cartoon character mc's gettin airborneTakin off like a hot air balloonGoin up up up, oh no kaboomBring your heroes down to ground zeroShotty grippin ya grill like pesci and deniroI'm on some [blank] shit, throats is gettin shitScoopedin new jacks and kick em in the *?fire bit?*Tell them ole jap niggas they need to go and stick itCos when it comes to this rap shit i'm mad wickedThe grand sire bringin flavour to the whole gameMr smith is my mother*****in nameChorusTo the bridgeBridge:Mr smith (i was a mack since birth)Talkin bout mr smith (i invented the taadow!) uhTalkin bout mr smithTalkin bout mr smithTalkin boutVerse 3:Time's up, your rhyme's up, mix the lines upI'm about to blow the spot up with that divine touchI got the magnetic energetic lyrical calastheticYa better call a medic cos ya look patheticGuan boy it's the champion mr smithYour niggas couldn't raise up with a forklift*****ed the hammer, peep out the grammarIt's hard like bacardi and hot like a house partyAll your so-called flavour niggas is deadedYour next step is where ya headed so don't forget itYour rhymes is beat, your steelo's scarred to scrapeWhen you scream you sound muddy like a bled teethI get'cha open like f-lay, 'tack you when i sprayLethal compositions around your wayI'm the maniacal murderous mr james smithRippin ya ass out the frame with my verbal giftChorus to fade
