Back to the previous page

Artist: Easy Mo Bee f/ Busta Rhymes, Chip Banks, Raekwon, Roc Marciano
Album:  Now Or Never: Odyssey 2000
Song:   Let's Make A Toast
Typed by:, Tha Masta

[Intro: Roc Marciano]
Yeah, wassup?
Roc Marc', whatup?
Flipmode y'all
Easy Mo, whatup baby?
One love, kid
Bless me on this track right here
Wu-Tang baby, whatup?
Rock' Marc' representin yea
Feature baby

[Roc Marciano]
Yo, yo
Testimonial flow, ceremonial head on the trophy, nigga
Tryin to ghost me, froze like frozen meat, the mosey on down
So low key, load up the soldier beat, diplomacy blow up the freestyles
Written or sold release, supposed to be wild
Some low-key shit, police stick, BLAOW!
Suffer the bust of your meat, that ain't the least of it
The beast is a dick, freakin this, believin this, the secret is
Beat at this so we can live and feed the kids
You get your feet off kid, don't spring a leak at this
Cuz in these streets, king of New York, stee
Like Biggie Smalls was this all good I could see
Sit on my political strength, like Merill Lynch
Thorough be my orchids, read your book
Defence thee, speed off the word
Magic, magic, marker thirsty, have to sling crack
Stack a fortune, back from off of me Lord
Slow the fuck up, snuggle behind me tryin to blind-side me
We sippin wine and feelin high and mighty
While Irish Rose, when I'm livin in the show
Somehow I know, and want that white beast to bring a blow, yo

[Chorus: Busta Rhymes]
You just smoked, nigga
Till ya choke, my nigga
Violating get your fuckin face broke, my nigga
Strive for the most til we all gross, my nigga
Rep for all my dogs from coast to coast, my nigga
Let's make a toast, mo' money
Let's make a toast, my nigga
Let's make a toast, nigga
Let's make a toast

[Busta Rhymes]
We be the high post niggas who rocks the most niggas
who pops the toast niggas, who drops the most hittas
Possessed one of the most venomous tongues
Lyrics is bio-hazardous, bite the forbidden shit, get disasterous
My mathematics too difficult for niggas to figure out like calculus
Unpredictable flow be miraculous
Funny niggas study, while y'all smoke in your nine blunts
And figure how we'll be doin it for the next nine months
Spit a million bars, that you wonder where the hook at
More sparklin shit to look at, now where the jooks at?
Climb the success ladder of the most successful crook cats
Down Memory Lane with a thousand grams of cook crack
Every now and then I look back, sometimes I put back
For once millionaire niggas, who's strive to get their look back
Clean up a local hoodrat, make sure that kids, they turnin their school books
Got thrown to pay to get their books back
In the meantime I hold a good stack, and do the observation
To reassure my motzerella conversation
Witness, have a soul, business now
We the benefactors of this whole shit, we in this now
Yo, my niggas feel how we consistently spit fire
Or get shattered and splattered if they caught up in a cross-fire
You know we give it to y'all, livin for y'all
And when we blow shit, you know we did it for y'all


Eh yo, bright, add on, mad-hatter with a rag on
No niggas cause God to spaz on
Major hieroglyphics, blood thirst, merchants up to nurtzes
Gun shot Kennedy down, we workin black churches
Spit fire, Bailey's with the tastle
Rastle of the last capsule, you ain't sellin if you natural
Underwater boat in the lake, we five boroughed out
Grace started rally, start barrel on the stage, yo
My IV on, drop a teaspoon with receivin like
Herald on a balloon, start twirlin in saloons du'
Spray up a galaxy, with hot wax, no consilary ax
Similar to John, worthy of the cracks, duke
About to blossom and deminish shit
Staten Island twist this, sublinder, relentless, Schindler's List
Grill in my shines, fly Nike's on
Shallah invite me on, yellin in the twell, "what the fuck he on?"
Just a taste of this, bass gracisness, yo
Lay on the floor, sayin prayer, your reward one
Holdin me hon', controllin me hon'
Your chore, check out the Roley dunn


[Chip Banks]
When you hear the slow breathin
That is the cat from Mally Gramp camp out to say somethin intriguin
Man I spit a rhyme that's hot to death
And stop ya breath, pop in this cassette then nod your neck
Y'all know y'all been blessed with the God Banky, Baby, I rhyme greatly
Smash your crew, don't have me spit a rash at you
My cash'll do, diver chief will blast at you
You bastards, you be heavy hittas, and y'all niggas
'll love to get rid of us, but our cash flows so ridiculous
You take pictures and snap shots even of Mr. Santana
in the drop Jag, with the cop mag squeezin
Haters on the side eyein hopin that I crash the whip for no reason
When the drama comes, the white flags, they bring them out
Stupid pricks they don't know what's this thing be 'bout
Better change your route, 'fore I have to mash your mouth
or get your arm all twisted out like Steve Stout's
Let them cowards try to come between this thing of our's
See how fast I turn them fake hard rocks back to flowers
Here's a word from your sponsor, Banky ruley marka
Number one Cream Teama, I flow meana

[Chorus 2X]