เนื้อเพลง Mr. Smith - LL Cool J

Intro:

Uh Mr. Smith, Mr Smith, Mr Smith
Uh Mr Smith, it's the bomb y'knowhutI'msayin? Mr Smith
Mr Smith, word up kid, yeah Mr Smith, check it out

Verse 1:

I'm goin to the top leavin smoke in my trail
B*tch ass gangstas put that ass on sale
And even if I'm twice as expensive as the rest
when I go for dolo you ain't checkin for nuttin less
My strategy is splittin brain cavity's
It's ya majesty bringin you a tragedy
Yeah, on the butcher block slice her like a ox
When it's time to get down, n*gga I jam like a Glock
I bust thru all types of red tape and sue papes
N*ggas come old but they always wanna infiltrate
I'm cuttin snakes thru the belly witta icepick
and scoopin hotties, a strong aisle of flip trips
It's the rebirth of murkin n*ggas once again
I drain with ink and put your blood in my pen
I'm breakin ribs til somethin gives
A n*gga got to live and Mr Smith is power god, kid

Chorus:

Mr Smith you got the sh*t sewed up
Work ya thang baby, show em how to blow up
*repeat x3*

Verse 2:

What? You wanna do what? You lack the vitality
originality, so face reality
I'm on some ole wild sh*t, ya n*ggas can't get wit
Matter of fact, mornin yawn and s*ck a d*ck
Nah hold up, the f*ck is goin on?
All these cartoon character MC's gettin airborne
Takin off like a hot air balloon
Goin up up up, oh no kaboom
Bring your heroes down to ground zero
Shotty grippin ya grill like Pesci and DeNiro
I'm on some [BLANK] sh*t, throats is gettin sh*t
Scoopedin New Jacks and kick em in the *?fire bit?*
Tell them ole Jap n*ggas they need to go and stick it
cos when it comes to this rap sh*t I'm mad wicked
The grand sire bringin flavour to the whole game
Mr Smith is my motherf*ckin name

Chorus

To the bridge

Bridge:

Mr Smith (I was a mack since birth)
Talkin bout Mr Smith (I invented the taadow!) Uh
Talkin bout Mr Smith
Talkin bout Mr Smith
Talkin bout

Verse 3:

Time's up, your rhyme's up, mix the lines up
I'm about to blow the spot up with that divine touch
I got the magnetic energetic lyrical calasthetic
Ya better call a medic cos ya look pathetic
Guan boy it's the champion Mr Smith
Your n*ggas couldn't raise up with a forklift
Cocked the hammer, peep out the grammar
It's hard like Bacardi and hot like a house party
All your so-called flavour n*ggas is deaded
Your next step is where ya headed so don't forget it
Your rhymes is beat, your steelo's scarred to scrape
When you scream you sound muddy like a bled teeth
I get'cha open like f-lay, 'tack you when I spray
Lethal compositions around your way
I'm the maniacal murderous Mr James Smith
Rippin ya ass out the frame with my verbal gift

Chorus to fade