Poppa Large Songtext / Lyric

I get in shape and do my physical fitness

Your head's numb, so your brains a miss this

Pick 'em up, eat 'em up, pick 'em up, beat 'em up

Pick 'em up pimple head, pick 'em up picky



I roll wit globs and I come real sticky

Ripping the mic, I plug it up in your ears

Crazed and brewer. I'm coming out like beers

Like Rheingold, Miller, Coors, and Buds



I'm a eat 'em wit popcorn and treat 'em like suds you duds

Coming out the wick wack, wicky, wick able wack

Black jack, that's a fact, writing exact behind your back

The funk rhyme to master, blaster



Kicking up in a brainstorm, rainstorm

Rap storm, rap form, rap time, rap rhyme

Rap class, I'm here to fail and to pass

To continue, from the more, hype tip






I roll and rock, rock and roll

Jazz and pop, rhythm and Blues

Dance and fusion, pain confusion

Look at the lights, what a night on the town



I'm Poppa Large, big shot on the East coast

I'm Poppa Large, big shot on the East coast

I'm Poppa Large, big shot on the East coast

I'm Poppa Large, big shot on the East coast



Now I'm back to funk, freak the funk

Hype the funk, swipe the funk and all that junk

I get busy on 'em, communicate wit the world

Man, woman, a baby boy and a girl



Poppa large looking out the pawn shop

Taking stroud while your face and arms drop

Stop, look, learn to read, learn to write learn to talk, learn to walk

And watch your step though, I'm hype and ripe though



Kleptomaniac, my rhyme is psycho

A Ricky Ricardo, a Guy Lombardo

Sporting a rag top, an El Dorado

Step into Hollywood, I'm screening the boulevards



The rhymes is gain type, I'm ready to pull it's card

Jack or Ace, King or Queen, call me the deuce

I'm pouring L.A. juice hitting the top, feeling the rim

Getting a trim, I never rhyme like them



On and on, on and on, on and on until the break of dawn

I go overtime, rock the mic in nighttime

Daytime, switching off to Prime time

Specifically, strolling back in the west time



Rock the funk wit the mic in the east rhyme

Hype and dope, hype the frame, the mic is smoking

Yo, I ain't joking

Rhyme to kill, rhyme to murder, rhyme to stomp



Rhyme to ill, rhyme to romp

Rhyme to smack, rhyme to shock, rhyme to roll

Rhyme to destroy anything toy boy

On the microphone



I'm Poppa Large, big shot on the East coast

I'm Poppa Large, big shot on the East coast

I'm Poppa Large, big shot on the East coast

I'm Poppa Large, big shot on the East coast



You're dripping sweaty, coming hard on your neck

As I flow and grow from head to toe

Seeking a style like John McEnroe

Dissing 'em all, serving them wit the mic stand



Like Prince and Michael coming out wit a big band

The crowd is loud, you can pay as the manager

Run wit the money, I pull the trigger and damage ya

Boom, taking life more serious



I may sound lyrical and very mysterious

Rhymes are grip tight, no grams to kill more

A son of Sam, how could I begin more

Grabbing the mic, you see the dark and shadows



You're in living hell, the funk, pound to pound

The funk ignited, hands are writing, brains dividing

I'm coming out in sighting

Like I'm Blackula, a better man that Dracula



Spectacular and not irregular in fact you are speaking impopular

Rhymes are moved and you can't be stop wit the

Beat as it goes to the rhyme that flows

Like a coke in a straw burning up in your nose



That's a bad habit, stepping out on stage one

Drop the mic, come and turn to page one

Look at the master, my range is higher

My lyrical burns, your brain's on fire



I'm Poppa Large, big shot on the East coast

I'm Poppa Large, big shot on the East coast

I'm Poppa Large, big shot on the East coast

I'm Poppa Large, big shot on the East coast



I'm Poppa Large, big shot on the East coast

I'm Poppa Large, big shot on the East coast

I'm Poppa Large, big shot on the East coast

I'm Poppa Large, big shot on the East coast