Slap – Busta Rhymes Lyrics

“Slap”

[Intro: Busta Rhymes]

I go on and on and on and

Don’t approach me, I back the ratchet, that’s a warnin’

Yeah, hahaha

Y’all gon’ appreciate this slap today

Taheem Allah, King Asia had it, galore

AKA Buss’ Rhymes, Big Daddy Kane, and the motherfucker

Yo, we in the motherfucker this evenin’

Rest in peace Biz Mark’

Rest in peace to all of our fallen soldiers

Rest in peace to PnB Rock, look

Look, somebody polish my crown

And put it back on my motherfuckin’—

Yo, yo

[Verse 1: Busta Rhymes]

We on course now, back with the force, respect the boss

Y’all stood off, shit leak out your head, like pasta sauce

Who’s to blame? (Uh) Burden this bitch and bang a flame

Ayo, we back (Conglomerate, bitch), you know the name (Ayo)

You’re ridin’ on empty, you should refuel the amigo

Most you niggas is finished, now pop ya self Plaxico

Passed it though, cook you and serve you, like a casserole

And lay you out on the street and display you, like a fashion show

Sorry, but I have to go, my spitter’s full of rockets

And I’m done with laying niggas in quadrilateral boxes

Compatible with toxins, the TEC’s jam electrical

Will reflect the image of niggas gettin’ chopped with a thousand options

The shit that I can concoct is, mixed like type-two diabetes

Mixed with high cholesterol, artery blockage (Haha)

You better call the cops, kid

Or quickly turn into one of them niggas abroad

As a headless or solvable hostage

Next throw the coke around, like them niggas in moshpits

A lot of niggas think they got it, but nigga just pop shit

We ’bout to give niggas bangers, controllin’ the block its

The fact that I’m holdin’ a rock while I’m throwin’ a knot, bitch

[Verse 2: Conway the Machine]

Yeah, I see these niggas still lyin’ on they raps and buyin’ they own plaques (Huh?)

I’m so relaxed, I don’t reply if you don’t at

Killer been chillin’, but somebody die and the bro snap

He dyin’ to go “Grraht”

That’s when y’all niggas gon’ be dyin’ to go rat

In and out of jail, so we don’t mind if we go back (Huh)

Got the rap business down to the science, don’t know cap (Woo)

Hall of fame and we’re just analyzin’ my old stats (Ah)

Glidin’ on those tracks (Ah), My catalog in it’s entirety all slap

And my impact is like that of a ball bat

Swing from Aaron Judge, bring Canary studs (Talk to ’em)

Yeah, Mercedes concept, where you get that from?

You talkin’ online and I ain’t worried ’bout that bum (Come on, man)

I was bullshittin’, then I three-peat back to back, uh

Machine brought that feel back, how they ain’t gon’ jack, son? (Woo)

I’m ’bout to go on my Kobe and Shaq run (Ah)

Punch a nigga in the chest and get a collapse lung (Hahaha)

Doat street , May block, you know where I’m at, uh (Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom)

[Verse 3: Big Daddy Kane]

Made a solemn oath to never stop gettin’

Decades later, stay about business

Spendin’ wild since I ain’t have a pot to piss in

Tried to give em game, but they steady not listenin’

Some of y’all got that Fetty Wap vision

My third eye proved my F.N. carnation

Move like the feds and hit every spot different

Ha, when me and Buss’ hit the block—, listen

Let me try to spit it to you logically

You got Kevin’s heart but no state property

I claim whatever in this here monopoly

Park Place, Boardwalk, them Greens, I got the three

Stop playin’, y’all, I got a third sum eat

But I left a spot at the table, it’s common courtesy

The urgency for currency certainly workin’ me, purposely

Even inadvertently, turnin’ me into Hercules

No laggin’ and that’s the dept of it

If y’all don’t know the roots to this, then let me Questlove it

Instead of y’all livin’ on a set budget

Make sure that bag secure, next subject

I ain’t at the ATM to check luggage

My bags carry on (It’ll come to you later)

‘Cause I’m a real earner boy

And you don’t wanna turn the boy into a Nat Turner boy

You ’bout to be a learner, boy

Enjoy yourself until I Pop Smoke and Burna Boy

In the story, no one goes after me

I anchor tracks so you hear last from me

Don’t ask me to pass the mic’, that’s blasphemy

Fuck I look like to y’all? DJ Cassidy

[Outro: Busta Rhymes]

A big daddy, haha

My man, my mellow

Let’s count this bread because you been the type of fellows

Hahaha

Track Information

Credits

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