Styles, Crews, Flows, Beats

Loot Pack in the place for the 1998 to the year 2000<br><br>You, ya` crew and we, we`re forced to break you down `til ya eyes can see<br>`Til the day comes when you feel that sonic drum<br>Ya` dogs can`t speak, `cause the cat got yo` tongue (Repeat)<br><br>(Wild Child)<br>LP, whats up you cerebellum anti-hemerick<br>Tell `em wait, <br>You`re not gonna see me kick 30 freestyle lines <br>and watch ya` ass regenerate<br>Lines I rejuvenate, jack elevates<br>Levels so thick, So ya can`t even tell ya` fate<br>When my freestyle rhymes starts to recelebrate<br>I`ll step back in the b-boy stance<br>Style will stop innovate<br>75% of signed niggas can`t participate<br>Wait for the right time to rain on niggas, come and precipitate<br>Damn, I hate two-faced brothers always agitate<br>First thought, put ya` head on the mantle<br>And watch it decapitate<br>I rhyme early, like Lavern and Shirley<br>Ya` rapulate, sport a `L` on my chest<br>Can ya` elegantness rapulate, jack infiltrates<br>On all you wack niggas who manipulate<br>Brothers irritate, watch a likwit emcee step up and irrigate<br>Still I wait for the right time, when Wild Child`s feelin` great<br>Hungry, `cause I got the munchies, and my rhyme style still ain`t ate<br>L`s in the airs, sisters yellin` Loot to the Pack<br>Closin` up and illin` and searchin` brothers right to the back<br>Before my rap attacks, ya` wack style sends you back<br>And all ya` hear from the crowd is "We wanna` hear Cracker Jack!"<br>I kick a freestyle, brother`s know I don`t come wack<br>Ya` already clappin` that, a dope-ass manitrack<br>Matter of fact, Wild Child known to pick up the slack<br>Known to pick up a wack emcee straight by the neck<br>Ask him why he rap <br>Cuz i might tightly strap you in a seat to win a trip to the Boomback<br><br>Style, if it wasn`t for the style, <br>It would be hard for me to show my culture profile<br><br>What about the crew? If it wasn`t for the crew,<br>It would be, only lonely me, payin` dues<br><br>Don`t forget the flow, if it wasn`t for the flow<br>Possibly, how could I suppose I could rock the shows<br><br>What about the beats? The beats..........<br><br>Quasimoto<br>It`s Mad Lib, he`s back kid, watch out<br>DJ Romes, Peanut Butter Wolf<br>>From this Stones Throw era<br>Yo` we bringin` it, West Coast<br>How we do? Mad Lib<br><br>(Mad Lib)<br>We drop shit like some architects<br>Spark and get, lit to make some underground hits<br>Mad Lib, the bad kid, we drop original<br>Precise, conceptual, house of wood, innovation nine thousand<br>We keepin` business like Eric in perish<br>Have you hype like `89 like we buggin` on terrace<br>Sometimes on the low-pro, styles like the no show<br>I`m comin` from the `O`, What we do?<br><br>(Quasimoto)<br>The Quas, representin` Quasimoto<br>Peanut Butter`s on the drum set<br>I grab the mic to run rec<br>I`ll have you hype like illegal gun sets<br>Plus the Beat Conductor got my back<br>Attack, whenever, whoever<br>You wanna test me? Behold and don`t cry<br>The bad character you see up on the screen<br>We keep it clean, like a diamond ring<br>or dirty like a one-night fling<br><br>(Quas and Lib) You gots to let us do our thing<br><br>We droppin` loops with static cling<br>While we steppin` on the scene<br>It`s the Loot digga`<br>Man, it`s the Loot digga`<br>My nigga<br>Yo`, it`s the Loot digga`<br>The Quas and the Pack and it`s peace like Greece<br>For fried chicken (two million) or for Astro black sticken`<br>Niggas talkin` shit? Yo` watch the plot thicken<br>I`ll leave y`all suckas wit yo` auditory sicken<br>(The game`s on you) Like Wild Man fisher<br>If it`s trouble in the West<br>We`ll bring back the juice with Bishop<br>I`ll smack yo` bitch up, like a pimp<br>And it`s low-high, <br>And your whole zoo could get revved up, and that`s no lie<br>Quasimoto and the Pack, we keep it raw like sex, <br>Mic check on the sex<br><br>*Cuts `til fade*