Artist: The 49ers Album: State of the Art Song: The Livest Typed by: OliverLang55@yahoo.com 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