Dummy Smacks

[Verse One: Chubb Rock]
The tools these days to go past platinum is such
You need the street based doe, corporate blow and bucks
Talent gets fucked
Mediocre cocks get sucked
Shit I wanna get sucked that makes my nuts get slush
On the L with a [?] cap I push the Range Rov'
X-Men style on the L, I don't like the light bulb
I try this style
Tried niggas never tried to try me
In the deepest hood I'm extremely safe like whitey
The question, where have ya been?
Is your phlegm still acidic?
Think you're Wolverine? Forget it
Brooklyn born, Flatbush be keeping it warm
[?] other people thought I was gone, never that

[Verse Two: Mr. Live]
Now can ya, see it?
Your bogus style easily defeated
You have now been unseated or your jewels now depleted
But get superseded by the funk, it's the lyrical
Breaking down your mineral, fucking up your physical
Your money can't help so now you turn spiritual
Playing to God that Mr. Live will stop lynching you
Sorry
It's a prophecy that I'ma exterminate
Weak ones I terminate
Smash and eradicate
Skate back to Brooklyn, smoke a dutch then I levitate
Generate venom, your bogus style ditto
[?] cause in a sec' can get gone
Cause your ass can get caught up like a Popeye tune

[Verse Three: Chubb Rock]
It be the Rocka man, Mr. Live on a hot track
We can get up and change colors like IMAX
The legend, your eardrum remembers the deep vocal
Three octaves, no singing though, similar to Total
No beef with the game, the aims the same
Can't fall cause there's No Half Steppin' to Kane
Pure war, if you want war then son bad timing
If you slip up on your verse we'll be Saving Private Rhyming
And I'm in, a league of my own remember the throne
That I sat on in Treat 'Em, your ego thought you could beat him
The ambition leaves you with more pots to piss in
But there's a new clock, Len, Live plus the Rock is hot

[Verse Four: Mr. Live]
Lyrical juggernaut
Hotter than that Coach bag your mother got
Me and your girl mad tight because we fuck a lot
I hate the deacon cause the nigga gets stuck a lot
Watch your back in Fort Green you gotta duck a lot
Because we bust a lot
[?] we stuff a lot of nastiness
Brooklyn DJ, he be the jazziest
Live be the flashiest like Rosebud whispering
Listening to [?] since I had your tongue blistering
Mr. [?] and Rock, big Len nigga duck
You see Chubb in the place and you say, "What the fuck?"
Happy days are here again steady beaming
It's the Live, mega fortified with the fat demon

[Interlude]
You know there's something I wanted to say for a long long time

[Verse Five: Chubb Rock]
Bread basket niggas be out loafing
When my shit drops your girl will be US Open
When my Benz shines I might even start boasting
Platinum shit then your career will be coasting
I'm not a fun nigga, I don't be joking
You can Jim Carry that shit away, smoking
All that 2Pac shit leaving Oakland
Whether you're weeded, dusted or just toking
Don't mess with me son or be provoking
Or I'll numb those sons your shit's be broken
Generation X please stop poking
Fuck metro card son, just buy token
Uh

[Interlude]
As if my [?] are gonna around or something. I feel almost nauseous. I remember standing up there thinking to myself, "What in the world is a matter with you?"

[Verse Six: Mr. Live]
Now you can be acrobatic, maybe perform magic
Make a nigga Houdini can never escape my verbal matic
Tragic if I see casualties or leave fallacies
Smoking like a challenge be, it be your sanity
Nobody as bad as me
Your mic will even know it
Fucking Bush is in the office, niggas should've went and voted
You know it
So niggas after money get your [?]
It's getting hot, don't sleep when this shit happens
We going back to Wild Style and crack vial
No city funding, heard the youth done in
"Son that nigga preaching"
You ain't got to see the Live
George Bush be taking you back to '85