Brooklyn Style... Laid Out

Chorus: big daddy kane

Come on y'all and feel the groove

Get on down and make your move

Welcome to the funkiest

Brooklyn style, laid out like this

I kicks the flavor good, to represent the neighborhood

Where I come from, and that's the place of brooklyn

Where the grimies are born and bred

And bullets are like eyeballs, two to the head

Well is it brownsville? time to represent for the map

Where the peeps smoke blunts and like to wear mad gold caps

The party addict about to explode

From the 1-1-2, the double-3 ill zip code

[big daddy kane]

Parlayin on the corner, drinkin 40's shootin cee-lo

It's a brooklyn thing, aight? you know our steelo

And for those who just don't know how it go

Play like a substitute teacher and act like you know

So yo, who wanna set it? you better kick your best g

You and your whole entourage couldn't test me

I represent for the fo' main

And if you're not a booty bandit, then niggaz can't hang

Now, let's get straight down to the point

I represent for this brooklyn joint, baby pah, where we're takin it to

Makin a few dollars don't mean you gotta forget

Where you come from and try to be someone, that you're really not

And front with what you got

You're gonna be looked at as a black man still so keep it real

What type of mission can I say you on?

Because you musta done changed to some grey poupon, heh

I'm really happy to see you blew up

But always remember my man you grew up

In the pj's all your life, in a broken home

(scoob: well alright now)

Up in the pj's all your life, keepin it strong, what!

I be the louis ave livin, live long lastin lover

Bonafied black brother, word to the mother

Skilled at trades at hand with those who made

The man with support and always stayed a fan

My dialectic style is perfected

In ways you can't imagine rap bein accepted

Funk'll slam like a doper jam, pops

I'm takin mine like taxes with uncle sam

So check out the asiatic type of flow

Like water in the nile, but it's brooklyn style

Yo, this is big scoob, no practice

I'm flippin on niggaz like little kids on that mattress

You know my style, baby pah from the pj's

My lyrics so dope, they too fat for local dj's

So hear me out, no doubt, no need for screamin

My boys in the back, clockin your jewels, and they scheamin

Why did they step to me, I hit em, bow, bu-dow

Knocked out his fronts cause the kid was mad fragile

No need for beef chief I'm rollin mad deep

So pick up your teeth, I got him shakin like a leaf

Not tryin to scare you, I just wanna aware you

I bet you won't even look at my face (what what what) I dare you

Yo nigga please, yo I'm nice with these

While you're guardin your grill, I'll be beatin up your kidneys

Me and my boys with the fat tec 9's

With my joint cocked back, in case a punk tried to take mines

Where I'm from there's no need for hesitation

We cock and squeeze, now where's the doctor for this patient?

He's drippin blood and now he's down to his last breath

But he won't make it, cause he knows that my joint is def

The ill, type of brooklyn artist

Who rocks the har-dest, regard-less

Who you know and where you're from I pull your file

(how? ) brooklyn style