WHERE IT’S AT
[Verse 1] New Jack City, not a new jack rapper/ Been snappin’ in high speed, high definition/ It’s the Spike Lee 35mm film grit/ Full clip/ Tarantino violent visions since it’s that roughneck rappin’/ From the roughest West Jafrican/ 8 heads heavy in my duffle bag carryin’/ Rap beat bumin’, got yo back seat jumpin’/ Like a n*gga in the trunk with his ass beat/ Strugglin’ to get out/ While you struggle to figure this shit out/ We some tiger sharks swimmin’ and we fishin’ bitches out/ Never go unspoken when provoked, so if you prone to start it up we gotta finish this shit out/ Lord help ‘em/ Ya all welcome/ To come visit me in my city, but not welcome to get out/ We spill ya pasta, when we see impostor point ‘em out/ From the south/ Bringin’ the heat up out the holster, ‘cross yo mouth
[Hook] Them Southside n*ggas runnin’ game to ya spouse/ While them Northside n*ggas put then knuckles to yo mouth/ It was them Westside n*ggas snatched yo ass up out yo house/ The M. I. Crooked ‘bout the crunkest out the south/ So where you at/ I told you we’ll be back/ Still triller than yo average and body baggin’ tracks/ You tried to run up on ‘em, I told you we bustin’ back/ So who dat/ Click clack/ It’s them boys from the Jack/ Where it’s at
[Verse 2] Many more where this hurt come from/ I’m just the first one, the worst one/ The whole herd come, ya whole earth done/ I been throwed/ Flip that fire-brimstone scariness/ Space Gangsta spit them live rounds out the chariot/ Hit you hard enough to leave you with nothing to bury, it’s/ Ultraterrestrial evidence, I’m in my element/ Never ever push that button or pull that lever/ Unless you can’t help yourself, cause you off of yo effin’ medicine/ Rep that Sip Hop/ For my Jacktown n*ggas pourin’ black Crown liquor, comin’ to clap you down quicker/ Wit that Crooked Letta slum shit/ Might spark a wire fire starter Firewater Boy/ Flyer harder crunkness/ Vintage Noize n*ggas takin’ everything/ Drop that/ Welcome to the Jack, son/ Where you think we got that/ Fuck the rap scene, I like the smell of gasoline/ And play with matches for the hell of it/ I’m done/ Burn the evidence
[Hook]
credits
from Heaven's Computer,
released September 25, 2012
Producer: M. Slago
North Carolina MC Big Pooh tells it like it is, detail for gritty detail, aided by L'Orange, Steve Roxx, and Apollo Brown. Bandcamp New & Notable Mar 24, 2015
Braver Heart Music. Trust the soul Music. Trip over a rock and bust your head music but get back up and brush yourself off music. Galactic Fear me Music. Step over that to get to that music. Jumping over my life to get to my next life music. Visually Visual Very well contained music. jumpoveryourodds