The Big East Lyrics - Slaughtahouse - Masta Ace Incorporated

Who is the man with the hats, with the snaps 

Droppin' the raps with the truth to the youth that's bustin' the caps? 

Who could it be? Is it a bird? Is it a plane? Is it a tree? 

No, it's me, capital A, capital S, capital E 

Boomin' like thunda, strikin' like lightnin' 

Welcome to my Slaughtahouse, I know it's frightenin' 

I'm hittin' 'em over the head with lyrical styles like a bottle 

My foot's on the pedal, my hand is on the throttle 

I'm turbo-boostin' from Houston to Vegas 

You want us to quit but, shit, you can't make us 

There's too much money to make, money to get, money to earn 

My pockets are on E and I want money to burn 

I got gusto plus yo, I'm zeekin' 'em 

Rollin' with LD, Ken, Eyce, Uneek and 'em 

Phat tracks, I'm freakin', word to your auntie 

It's written all over your face, I know you want me 

Scientifical, mathematical war 

Rhymes that beats harder than trigonometry four 

So open your books to page one and I'll show you how it's done 

It's the roughneck kid without a gun 

I'm laughin' ha, ha, it's fun to watch you weep as 

You're cryin', dyin', tryin' to figure out the jeep ass 

Nigga, bigger and better and badder than ever before 

Hittin' with hardcore lyrical calisthenics that make me sore 

And on the show of fire, supplier of the real 

Get with the program and I'm slammin' like Shaquille 

Right on your head, do what I said, backin' me up is the D 

You must be crazy if you wanna mess with me 

'Cuz I am not the one, kid, oh, no, he ain't the one, son 

The shank in my sock will chop you like a onion 

So boom, head for the hills, head for the freakin' border 

I slaughter like great white sharks, I'm makin' sparks 

Comin' from the Big Eeast, boy, we ain't slippin' 

Don't you know? Don't even think about it, yeah 

Comin' from the Big East, boy, we ain't slippin' 

Don't you know? Don't even think about it, yeah 

Comin' from the Big East, boy, we ain't slippin' 

Don't you know? Don't even think about it, yeah 

Comin' from the Big East, boy, we ain't slippin' 

Don't you know? Don't even think about it, yeah 

As I walk through Brooklyn, Compton or whatever 

I wonder why black folks don't wanna stick together 

We talk about justice and how little we get 

Yet black men be killin' black men for talkin' shit 

Here's the one that's talkin' shit 

How the hell are we supposed to wage war 

Against the powers that be 

When we are still our own worst enemy? 

That's why I'm the Masta, I'm tryin' to tell you kid 

I'll break it down simply right back to the freestiddyle 

I'm bashin', breakin', I'll fry you like bacon 

I don't smoke blunts, boy, you must be mistaken 

I do smoke mics and MC's that come wid 'em 

I hit 'em and get 'em and sit 'em down, then I spit 'em 

Out some lyrical phlegm from deep within me 

I'm not John, but I'm Madden, I'll give you Moore than Demi 

I burn like tobasco, your ass, yo, don't beg 

Miss Crabtree, Stumpy said you had a wooden leg 

So I brought my ax and a box full of termites 

'Cuz I got your big fat booty in my sites 

I'm not from Philly but I fly like an eagle 

My rap book is thicker than a catalog from Spiegel 

A Regal I do not drive, I drive a jeep and 

I should say drove one, some suckers caught me sleepin' 

But next time they break in my car to rip the Ace off 

I'll have a pitbull waitin' to rip their freakin' face off 

Comin' from the Big East, boy, we ain't slippin' 

Don't you know? Don't even think about it, yeah 

Comin' from the Big East, boy, we ain't slippin' 

Don't you know? Don't even think about it, yeah 

Comin' from the Big East, boy, we ain't slippin' 

Don't you know? Don't even think about it, yeah 

Comin' from the Big East, boy, we ain't slippin' 

Don't you know? Don't even think about it, yeah 

On and on and on, it's on 

On and on and on, it's on 

Do you live in America? 

Do you know of America?