Dukedagod - Funkmaster Flex Hot 97 Freestyle Lyrics lyrics

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DukeDaGod:

It's Dipset all day, The Movement Moves On

Cam'ron:

New York City, you are now tuned in to America's #1 station, Hot 97

In conjunction with America's #1 DJ, Funkmaster Flex

In collaboration with America's, pardon me, #1 independent rap label, Dipset

And right now I'm accompanied by greatness (Uh-huh)

My man Hell Rell's in the building, BX borough. (Uh-huh)

J.R. Writer's here, you know he's the Writer Of Writers

Right now, I don't know where Santana's out, he probably in Brazil

Act up homie

They told us not to stay at Def Jam, we eatin' over there

You was right, put work on they block

Sell more than they sell, I feel you

Ay yo Capo act up, do what you do homie, go 'head homie

I'm waitin' in the wings for somebody to act stupid, I'm right here, you heard

I used to be Jaffe Joe, I used to be Killa

I think I'ma go with something different this year

I'ma go with

Hook

J.R. Writer & Cam'ron:

We guerilla breathin', we guerilla breedin'

It's the Dips, get the drift, this is Killa Season

Watch him kill the season, paid checks heavy

It's King Jaffe Joe, get ya tape decks ready

We guerilla breathin', Killa Season

Feel the evening, killin' season

Watch him kill the season, paid checks heavy

It's Diplomat Records, get ya tape decks ready

Cam'ron:

Say what cats did I hang with, slang with, bang bang with

Blain gangsta ganked it, left lane to the banquet

Live from the borough where Rich Porter became rich

Purple Rain in the rain explains it, on that same spit, spit

To the day of a reign, I aim and flame leave a lame lit

Clips changed, obtain bricks, exchange bricks (bricks)

Bricks exchanged, throw the kid some change

Look homeboy, I ain't tryna get no names

Must've sniffed cocaine, lookin' at my Diplo chain

The biscuit turn you to Bisquick mixed with shrimp lo mein

Old ladies just stop and say it's yo' thang

Can't deny 'em, look down my wrist go bling

Bling bling, glistening, come and get some cash

First kiss my ring, oh no, well kiss my ass

Back in my zone holmes, get ya mind right

The 2-3 or 3-2, naw, it's the twilight

It's the highlights of my life

Every gun, car, crib, chickenhead that I like

10 on the dope, 10 that's beside knife

10 in the hood, 10 that's besides night

And they tied tight, my family ties tight

10 town 200 bricks, forget 5 mics

Hook

J.R. Writer:

You gotta feel the heathen, we guerilla breathin'

It's the Dips, get the drift, this is Killa Season

Watch him kill the season, paid checks heavy

It's King Jaffe Joe, get ya tape decks ready

You gotta feel the heathen, we guerilla breathin'

It's the Dips, get the drift, this is Killa Season

Watch him kill the season, paid checks heavy

It's King Jaffe Joe, get ya tape decks ready

Cam'ron:

That's one and out, let's go, let's keep it movin', that's one song, I mean let's go

You wanna get, I mean Hell Rell you ain't say nuthin' that whole song

Let's go, let's go, I mean that's one and out, that's one song down

That's heatrock, let's go, I'ma step out

J.R. lace 'em up, I'ma come back in a minute, ya'll get busy

Alright we got this man (Hell Rell)

Lemme hear a hook on this

Hook

J.R. Writer:

It's kinda hard to doubt that we ain't a slaughterhouse

Dip radio, you're now tuned in to the Hardest Out

Slash the first to ride, you ain't never heard of fly

Take it how you want it, nigga my Gs is certified

Hell Rell:

I slow-flowed y'all to death

These hustlers actin' like they coke hard to stretch

Any broads wantin' me to put cash in they purse

Like they wrote half of my verse, nope

I give a few some credit (Dipset)

Ya dude bring my cash on a verse

Plus I hold a welfare card, cuz that's how I work

I'm 'bout to buy a Aston Martin, throw you in the trunk

Be at the Funk Flex show wit' you in the trunk

But they said I couldn't do it, they put me to the test

But I proved to all them suckers I was worthy of success

Teachers said I wasn't uh, was wastin' time in her class

It was more like she was wastin' mine, I had them dimes on the Ave

Momma said I'd be dead, shot, locked up in the can

Nope, got it poppin' with Cam, up in a drop like sha-bam

But why they knockin' that man, cuz of the rocks on his hand

Or the Air Forces they'll never see cuz they got copped in Japan

Damn, man, I know he a gangsta, and he pop his steel

He supposed to be dead or locked up, why he got a deal

He was just shootin' a Uzi, now he shootin' a movie

And all his mans startin' to act like groupies

I slow-flowed y'all to death

These hustlers actin' like my flow hard to catch

Man, Diplomats, we the strongest force

On or off the court we ball and ball for sport

Hook

J.R. Writer:

It's kinda hard to doubt that we ain't a slaughterhouse

Dip radio, you're now tuned in to the Hardest Out

Slash the first to ride, you ain't never heard of fly

Take it how you want it coward, our Gs is certified

Hell Rell:

Always sleepin' high, with visions of my enemies beggin' for mercy

Crawling on the floor like a centipede

Screamin' "Rell please don't shoot me, I got children"

"Should've thought about those snotty-nosed kids when you was snitchin'"

But now I'm on a mission, yeah, fresh out the kitchen

A stand-up dude who only sit when he shhh

You sit when you pissin', dude listen

My talent was God-given, got wise by hard livin'

I sleep all day, smoke haze, manage` women

I spit these hard rhythms, it feel like a car hit 'em

So leave that boy alone, can't you see he in the zone

Dudes try to be like 'em, can't you see he gettin' cloned

All this blue and this yellow, can't you see it in the stones

And yeah we brought them hammers Cam, we never leave 'em alone

So move back, I'm poppin' off the .4

Heaven let me in because I'm knockin' on yourdoor

It's Prada on my whores

And naw, I don't really do too many funerals, but I gotta go to yours

I gotta see the face of a coward

Please man, let the homie breathe, give me a taste of that power

My chain hate my watch, my watch hate my ring

My jewelry goin' crazy, gotta get some new bling

So all praise is due to Hell Rell, it's the new religion

Smack ya girl, pop two in her, triple vision

Hook 2x

Cam'ron:

That's two and out, let's go Dennis, you movin' slow Dennis

Let's go Dennis, that's two and out

Good work, good work

J.R., you up man, hold on

Stop it, stop it

D, I mean, you got somethin' to say, that's two and out

We early, KOCH put that E.P. together, that's two songs (Next and dirty)

I mean c'mon, I mean excuse me Flex

Excuse me, 2 minutes, can I get 2 minutes

Let's do what we told to do

New York, we run this here

I mean pa, listen it's J.R.'s turn

I'ma do the chorus you ready

Lemme get this son, I just wrote son

Lemme see I'ma, it's my turn, I ain't get a chorus off yet

I'ma go in first then, a'ight

That's three songs and out, let's do it

Hook

Cam'ron:

My dude ridin', he ridin' in Lamborghinis

The oyster mixed with linguini, you hear me

He's a rider

All in together, together we gettin cheddar

Yo Chedda, we get together, you hear me

He's a rider

My dude ridin', he ridin' in Lamborghinis

The oyster mixed with linguini, you hear me

He's a rider

All together, together we gettin' cheddar

You dudes, you know better, why

He's a rider

J.R. Writer:

Listen pal, I ain't gotta spit, child you is not as sick

Foul for a while, look, my style is anonymous (Anonymous)

Pound for a pound of piff, smile cuz I'm drownin' it

You's a fake G like a thousand in counterfeits

I can show you how to flip that bird

How to hit that curb, how to get that served

Young'n, I'm the shhh, that's word

You's a prick, fag, herb, you get pimped-slapped, heard

Huh, come get wit' a rebel, I put the kick to the pedal

The clip in the metal

I'm sickenin' nephew, listen here

Your F-in' engineer couldn't get to my level

Dipset is forever B, bet y'all remember me

Stretch all my enemies, Heckler'll send 'em three

But, I got a Tech that'll get a G

To drop his flag like a ref on a penalty

I'm fresher than lemon squeeze, wrist-wrap chill

Pitch-black car wit' them pitch-black wheels

Nice more stash box, big black steel

Leave you at the red light, the kid's that real

Steppin' in his Nikes, freshest in your sight

You ain't never seen these F-in' Pelle in ya life

I throw on fresh gear, throw on fresh wear

This is something you will have to throw on next year

Yeah

Hook

J.R. Writer:

Listen scrap, believe me, you need crack to see me

I'm a classic, one of your old scratched up CDs

Check my swag it's easy

As you can see, I do the damn thing and I ain't Fab or Jeezy

I stepped through the trap with Weezy

Front of the tenements

Posted up on Post, 100 Dominicans

That'll clap you soon as you go to beef with J

Throw a couple at you once they hear "Dida le" (Tato)

Put ya brains all across the pavement

You niggaz singin' like you singin', how you talk to agents

But drop my name, and I'ma stop

Throw you in a box like some caps at a hop-scotch game

I cop drops man, come peep what I whip whore

The '62, got 'em jumpin like a 6-4

Soon as I hit tour, brrr, caught a chill

Sleeves on freeze, add up to a quarter mill

I'm 'bout to talk my deal, that's what a thug about

Killa, hit Sharon, tell her I need another house!

I dig ya mother out then put her in a cab

Gas her up then hit the hooker wit them slabs

What you think, naw I ain't a rookie wit' it fag

She'll have to boof that in a cookie like a pad

You rookies are just mad, you can't say shit to me

You gotta get rid of me, I'm 'bout to make history

Hook

Cam'ron:

I mean, hold on, that's three and out, hold on

Don't even play yet, put that on pause B

New York City, we gonna take a slight intermission

Because if you do this up here, you bitin'

We knocked three songs out, you can only do it in one take

That means we didn't punch in, that means I one taped it

J.R. one taped it, Hell Rell one taped it, we chorused it out

That means the business is right

The rhymes is right and if you come up here and try freestyle a song

you're bitin (You swagger-jackin')

I mean you did a solo song Hell Rell, right

That means you repped BX Borough, you repped the Dominicans

I'm 140 and Lenox to the death

So we might as well do somethin' together

Capo, get ready to take the mu'fu-uh

Capo, take the Maserati up to 200, we goin' in, lets go

Tape this for Santana when he get back

Let's get 16s off, I got the chorus on this, y'all back up

Let's go, I got the chorus

You ready, New York City we run the mu'fuckin' building, pardon me

Take it, take it back B, I messed up because I'm talkin' too much

Take it from the top, take it from the top

New York, I mean, I mean I know y'all goin' home and write hard tonight

I know y'all goin' home and write hard tonight

Cam'ron:

Y'all Diplomats, y'all kickin' is chicken scratch

What you can't g-get wit' that, homeboy go flip a pack

Dip-Dip-Dip-Dipset

Dip-Dip-Dip-Dipset

I said it's the Diplomats, what y'all kickin' is chicken scratch

Y'all can't get wit' that, homeboy go flip a pack

Dip-Dip-Dip-Dipset

Dip-Dip-Dip-Dipset

J.R. Writer:

Listen, I'm worth a couple figures, always hurtin' all these niggaz

That I'm OZ, tryna stuff the purple in the swisher

Convertible just picture, how I swerve up on your sister

Wit' a dance, tip dance that'll turn her to a stripper

Yo the burner by the zipper, burn 'em, turn 'em to a pisser

Shit 'em mister in a river, you gon' learn that I am sicker

Determined to be bigger, birds I serve 'em to these niggaz

Call the cops, they ain't seen these type of murderers since Hitler

Shit, if I know 'em, I'm quick to expose 'em

Wristery frozen, reason why your chick on my scrotum

I'm lifted and poked on shit that is potent

Fresh out the pot, 2Pac couldn't picture my rollin'

Hook

Cam'ron:

I said it's the Diplomats, y'all kickin' is chicken scratch

Y'all can't g-get wit' that, homeboy go flip a pack

Dip-Dip-Dip-Dipset

Dip-Dip-Dip-Dipset

I said it's the Diplomats, what y'all kickin is chicken scratch

Y'all can't get wit' that, homeboy go flip a pack

Dip-Dip-Dip-Dipset

Dip-Dip-Dip-Dipset