Print

I get in shape and do my physical fitnessYour head's numb, so your brains a miss thisPick 'em up, eat 'em up, pick 'em up, beat 'em upPick 'em up pimple head, pick 'em up pickyI roll wit globs and I come real stickyRipping the mic, I plug it up in your earsCrazed and brewer. I'm coming out like beersLike Rheingold, Miller, Coors, and BudsI'm a eat 'em wit popcorn and treat 'em like suds you dudsComing out the wick wack, wicky, wick able wackBlack jack, that's a fact, writing exact behind your backThe funk rhyme to master, blasterKicking up in a brainstorm, rainstormRap storm, rap form, rap time, rap rhymeRap class, I'm here to fail and to passTo continue, from the more, hype tipI roll and rock, rock and rollJazz and pop, rhythm and BluesDance and fusion, pain confusionLook at the lights, what a night on the townI'm Poppa Large, big shot on the East coastLetras de cancionesI'm Poppa Large, big shot on the East coastI'm Poppa Large, big shot on the East coastI'm Poppa Large, big shot on the East coastNow I'm back to funk, freak the funkHype the funk, swipe the funk and all that junkI get busy on 'em, communicate wit the worldMan, woman, a baby boy and a girlPoppa large looking out the pawn shopTaking stroud while your face and arms dropStop, look, learn to read, learn to write learn to talk, learn to walkAnd watch your step though, I'm hype and ripe thoughKleptomaniac, my rhyme is psychoA Ricky Ricardo, a Guy LombardoSporting a rag top, an El DoradoStep into Hollywood, I'm screening the boulevardsThe rhymes is gain type, I'm ready to pull it's cardJack or Ace, King or Queen, call me the deuceI'm pouring L.A. juice hitting the top, feeling the rimGetting a trim, I never rhyme like themOn and on, on and on, on and on until the break of dawnI go overtime, rock the mic in nighttimeDaytime, switching off to Prime timeSpecifically, strolling back in the west timeRock the funk wit the mic in the east rhymeHype and dope, hype the frame, the mic is smokingYo, I ain't jokingRhyme to kill, rhyme to murder, rhyme to stompRhyme to ill, rhyme to rompRhyme to smack, rhyme to shock, rhyme to rollRhyme to destroy anything toy boyOn the microphoneI'm Poppa Large, big shot on the East coastI'm Poppa Large, big shot on the East coastI'm Poppa Large, big shot on the East coastI'm Poppa Large, big shot on the East coastYou're dripping sweaty, coming hard on your neckAs I flow and grow from head to toeSeeking a style like John McEnroeDissing 'em all, serving them wit the mic standLike Prince and Michael coming out wit a big bandThe crowd is loud, you can pay as the managerRun wit the money, I pull the trigger and damage yaBoom, taking life more seriousI may sound lyrical and very mysteriousRhymes are grip tight, no grams to kill moreA son of Sam, how could I begin moreGrabbing the mic, you see the dark and shadowsYou're in living hell, the funk, pound to poundThe funk ignited, hands are writing, brains dividingI'm coming out in sightingLike I'm Blackula, a better man that DraculaSpectacular and not irregular in fact you are speaking impopularRhymes are moved and you can't be stop wit theBeat as it goes to the rhyme that flowsLike a coke in a straw burning up in your noseThat's a bad habit, stepping out on stage oneDrop the mic, come and turn to page oneLook at the master, my range is higherMy lyrical burns, your brain's on fireI'm Poppa Large, big shot on the East coastI'm Poppa Large, big shot on the East coastI'm Poppa Large, big shot on the East coastI'm Poppa Large, big shot on the East coastI'm Poppa Large, big shot on the East coastI'm Poppa Large, big shot on the East coastI'm Poppa Large, big shot on the East coastI'm Poppa Large, big shot on the East coast From Letras Mania