Jas Mace
I make more tracks than needles with base heads
This man's dead when he take my name in vein it's a dag gone shame
I get low down, skip the show down, go down to the corner block
Big up to Jackson Heights it don't stop where I rock
A fortified 49er, bringing forty figures to your front porch
So what's up
You can't front on the Outfit shit, the 49 clique be doing it
No matter who you are you be loving it
Rubbing it like ointment appointments made with superstars
Ride around in super cars I plan to get super large
But for now I just lounge with my true heads
The ones that want to see me dead fuck y'all
Marchitect
It's the Mizark, chilling in the pizark
I gotta break, cause Jas Mace just stepped on my clizarks
If you want it baby, then that's all right
Hit the spot for the twig I'm getting married all night
Who is it, the grand imperial word exquisite
Talking shiznit could have your family paying visits to your bedside
I'm trained to run over tracks
While you only seeing one side like one eyed jack
Got your whole frame blown messing around with Mark
After dark, I'm bombing out of Brookside Park
And where you from, I'm bombing out of Brookside Park
And where you from, We're bombing out of Brookside Park
Hook
Who's the livest, that gotta be me
Cause I can grab the microphone I'm the T-E-C
Who's the illest, that gotta be i
Cause I can grab the microphone and make it sound so fly
Jas Mace
I remember back in the day I used to roll with Rick
He was quick to grab a mic better known as Slick
Gold down to his dick, kick stories while Doug hit the beatbox
So fresh, his mouth got and dry and wouldn't stop
Who rocked the planet, Grandmaster damn it
And Melle Mell always had a story to tell
Who fell to Mr. Parker was the word around town
My man Chris always had a diss to dish
To this kat across town man I think his name was Shan
But he ain't give a damn he just came back with a fat track
Wasn't nobody killing we was chilling with Roxanne
Just talking jazz, but now they'll kick that ass
Marchitect
Let me tell a story about a brother named Tec
Who does the mic wreck for respect and not the check
I'm sick of all these little suckers and their little words
Fronting like their large but I know they're really herbs
Smoked a little herb and got punked by your boys
Mr. young lung, young buck trying to bring the noise
I know so many females in this vicinity
You can beat my game is tight as the Holy Trinity
So yo, the image that you trying to fake
That's the feeling that I'm feeling everyday that I awake
I will take twenty miles if you give me an inch
And I'm starting everyday you suckers ride the fucking bench
Hook
Who's the illest, that gotta be I
Cause I can grab the microphone and make it sound so fly
Who's the livest, that gotta be me
Cause I can grab the microphone I'm in the place to be
And who's the illest, that gotta be us
49ers getting down
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