Eddie Ill & D.L. - Major League lyrics

[Defari] 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 sh** 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 way 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 [Evidence] 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 bu*ton-up jersrey, Dilated written in cursive I spill my heart to wax and put the knocker in the open Three men against nine players, yo, that sh**'s unheard of Plus my eyes are open in takin' folks scope 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 [Rasco] 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 f** them plans up Smack n***as, with lyrical gems that sayin hymns n***as 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 way 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 [Repeat] [Scratching, fades out]