(feat. Defari and Dilated Peoples)

Don't front

So many claim the fame, but never see the day
When lyrically they could even run, in the Triple-A's
This here's the major leagues, where big hits are guaranteed

The Ken Griffey turbo 850 professional MC
One more time that cat Defari
With a sting operation so blatant we call it franchise

Man sign, independent on some enterprise
It's time to shoot straight, innovate, and make the world realize
That mics get ripped, and spots get blown

I strive to be a Golden State all-time great, like J-Ro
I gets burned when the Technics turn on mix shows and mix tapes
That you hear when a car turns left on the street

You know that %#@! that make you bounce
'Nuf respect to Rasco and Evidence
Yo hold it down on the mound

I'm not like Hideo, don't got it Nomo
I'm more like Randy Johnson, guaranteed heat for sure


Yo this that where the big hits are guaranteed
This ain't no minor league affair this here the major leagues
You in the batter's box ready for combat (what?)

But when you step up to the plate better bring it fat

I throw spitballs and sliders, and hit batters with attitude

The signal's in, and my catcher's 'Fari Herut
I got to risin on the mound, talkin at pen-point
Retire the side, put on a jacket, ice my joints

And body parts, world-wide, Evidence is known
Have you fallin out the batter's box when curves are thrown
Precise angles, I disect the strategy, no cost

And just 'cause I choose to wander don't mean I'm lost
I got the button-up jersrey, Dilated written in cursive
I spill my heart to wax and put the in the open

Three men against nine players, yo, that %#@!'s unheard of
Plus my eyes are open in takin' folks
One cat got on base but he didn't learn his lesson

I faked to first and picked him off at second
Patience is a virtue, yo he couldn't understand
That cat's out, time waits for no man

Bust it

Don't front

This where the big hits are guaranteed
This ain't no minor league affair this here the major leagues
You in the batter's box ready for combat (what?)

But when you step up to the plate

It be the large caliber rhyme

Ask yourself why try
Microphone slash Rasco Defari
Evidence, rhymes that set the precedence

Straight out the box, MCs to bobby sox
Major league, set to intrigue you small fee
Nothin' to the game, we doused them small flames

Take names
Head for the fence, we track prints
Track down the scent, then fold your whole tent

Stay bent
The illest on rhymes at all times
Call your bullpen, Rasco just pulled into the lot

Be strikin em out with one shot
While your pitch be hittin the plate at one spot
Down the pipe

The major lieutenant that earn stripes
Bet strap in, cadet to captain
Stand up, better yet, put them hands up

And watch the triple threat come $#&@ them plans up
Smack ^!$$%s, with lyrical gems that sayin hymns
^!$$%s still rappin 'bout clothes and car rims

Man debted
But dishin that corn, you get spreaded
We runnin on supreme, you runnin on unleaded

Couldn't match, you out the line-up, you been scratched
Sittin on the bench, not feelin you one pinch, in the trench
We loadin the guns to stack funds
Went from stackin ones to stackin them one-huns
Scored runs

The hotter the bat, the more fat
It's Dilated, Ras, 'Fari, we bust back
Like that, like that, like that, like that
Like that y'all, like that, check it


Yo this that where the big hits are guaranteed
This ain't no minor league affair this here the major leagues
You in the batter's box ready for combat (what?)
But when you step up to the plate better bring it fat
Don't front