Next Up (feat. Big Daddy Kane & Kool G Rap)

Gawd-DAYUM! I don't know what y'all been thinking 'bout

But I think this right here is about to shut dem damn haters down!!

I'm from the streets that make **** walk slow, talk low

With white chalk-o, mi casa be siete uno ocho

Brooklyn motherfucker, handle this

Pardon my Spanish and French (Brooklyn baby!)

Okay, I stay clever like Mayweather with laid leather

'Til your face sever, one of the greatest ever

Beyond ringing bells, my name's so demanding

Shit, I got the swagger that'll leave Dakota fanning

(That boy still standing!)

I hope you **** over standing; I stay sucker-free

The next Kane up in the game, you ain't got enough to be

Your career last a week, that'll be luckily

Fuck wit' me, the rap game'll need protective custody

(AHH!) I'm the same thug to be, surrounded with women

Gave the game True Religion before you found it in denim

Feel the Wrath of Kane and you cannot escape

The hip-hop version of The Ring, and you just watched the tape

(Next up!)

And keep your eyes on the **** in noir

Triple black in the candy painted car, it's the color of war

Me and my brother on par with nann ****

We trill workin the wheel, understand, ****? (Understand?)

I smother and split a bitch down to the tendon

High pressure, if you don't break your ass bendin'

I'm way past sendin' in my series of warnings

You flex with me tonight, playa – you dead by the mornin (Woo!)

Bun Beater the best ever, breathin' or deceased

From the South to the Midwest, Cali to the East

Go to any city, ****, (All of 'em!) and bring my name up

I bet I eat the best rapper they got in the game up

Call a **** up, email him, or chirp him

Make a meal out his motherfuckin' ass and then burp him

(DAYUM!) Don't fuck around, I'm not your lil' homey

I'm the king of the underground, so act like you know me

(Next up!)

We bench steppin, big reppin'

We givin' kids Smith & Wessons, lessons

You get left in a sketchin'

Eff with the Midwest, click Texas (Yo, watch, who dat?)

G. and Daddy Kane, the click testers (Word)

Poppin' til death, I've bought private planes and swift jets'es

**** know what it is

When they see the ball cap and a slick Stetson (Woo!)

Turn your strip Lex into a movie clip from the Westerns

Shit from the Uzi clip lift up your midsection (Tell 'em, G. Rap!)

G will introduce you to the nose on the Glock, fam

Give you metal jackets like clothes from a rock band

Multiple holes, you get those in your top, man (Oww!)

High roller dose, some hoes on the cock plan

Froze, but never cold, he rolls with a hot hand

We stacking cheese 'til the rubberbands pop, scrams

And I ain't breakdancin' when I'm in the pop stance

Bank pounds like James Brown, give 'em hot pants

(Next up!)

I make your gurl get down and open it up

Put my dick up in they jaws and go in they butt

I'm a young hot street flame

They call me Sweet James

Or call me Sir Jones, two hundred dollar cologne

(Uh!) Bond 9, or Issey Miyaki

I got your girl mind, meat strong like saki

I ain't Rocky but I keep a rocket

Fuck around, I'll knock your tuna fish out of socket

Your bitch out of pocket, she under pimp arrest

She reckless eyeballing, watchin my top fall in

On my Lambourghini with the three screens

Fettucini, linguini, shrimp and a bowl of lean!

What you know about gettin cross country?

****, your piece big, but your diamond look monkey

You need to take that shit back

Them ain't no Emmit diamonds

What the fuck you done to that?

Bitch, what the fuck you done to that?!

Now, damn! Somebody need to beat Jacob's ass over that!