| Ayo, you better flee hops, or get your head flown three blocks |
| L keep rappers' hearts pumpin' like Reeboks |
| And every year I gain clout and my name sprouts |
| Some brothers’d still be virgins if crack never came out |
| I got the wild style, always been a foul child |
| My guns go «BOOM BOOM!» and yo' guns go «pow pow» |
| I’m known to have a hottie open |
| I keep the shotty smokin' |
| Front, and get half the bones in your body broken |
| And when it comes to gettin' nookie I’m not a rookie |
| I got girls that make that chick Toni Braxton look like Whoopi |
| I run with sturdy cliques |
| I’m never hittin' dirty chicks |
| Got thirty-five bodies, buddy, don’t make it thirty-six |
| Step to this, you’re good as gone |
| Word is bond, I leave mics torn when I put it on |
| So put it on, Big L, put it on! |
| C’mon, put it onnn, and onnn, and onnn! |
| C’mon, put it on, Big L, put it on! |
| C’mon, put it on, represent, put it on, C’MON! |
| Nobody can take nothin' from Big L but a loss, chief |
| The last punk who fronted got a mouth full of false teeth |
| I’m known to gas a hottie and blast a shotty |
| Got more cash than Gotti |
| (You don’t know?) you better ask somebody |
| Big L is a crazy brother, and I’m a lady lover |
| A smooth kid that’ll run up in your baby mother |
| I push a slick Benz, I’m known to hit skins |
| And get ends and commit sins with sick friends |
| 'Cause I’m a money getter, also a honey hitter |
| You think you nice as me? Haha, you’s a funny nigga |
| I flows, so one of my shows wouldn’t be clever to miss |
| I’m leavin' competitors pissed |
| To tell you the truth, it gets no better than this |
| I’m catchin' wreck to the break of dawn |
| In this song, yo, it’s a must that I put it on |
| Yeah, so put it on, Big L, put it on! |
| C’mon, put it onnn, big fella, put it on and on! |
| Put it on, Big L! |
| Put it on, represent! |
| Put it on, c’mon, put it on! |
| Some boys see me gun nozzle and take a we fi joke |
| Boy, you gwan dead before you see me gun smoke |
| See me gun nozzle and take me fi joke |
| You gwan dead from a me you provoke |
| I drink Moët, not Beck’s beer, I stay dressed in slick gear |
| Peace to my homies in the gangsta lean, I see you when I get there |
| And it’s a fact I keep a gat in my arm reach |
| I charm freaks and bomb geeks from here to Palm Beach |
| I’m puttin' rappers in the wheelchair |
| Big L is the villain you still fear |
| 'Cause I be hangin' in Harlem and shit is for real here |
| If you battle L you picked the wrong head |
| I smash mics like cornbread |
| You can’t kill me, I was born dead |
| And I’m known to pull steel trigs and kill pigs |
| I run with ill kids and real nigs who peel wigs |
| My rap’s steady slammin', I keep a heavy cannon |
| It’s a new sheriff in town and it ain’t Reggie Hammond |
| Peace to my peoples, the Children of the Corn |
| 'Cause we put it on, adiós, ghost, I’m gone |
| So put it on, Big L, put it on! |
| C’mon, put it onnn, big fella put it on and onnn! |
| Big L, you gotta put it on and on! |
| Put it on, Big L put it on ond on! |
| Word up, knahmsayin? |
| My man Big L, runnin' things for the nine-four |
| And nine-oh-s, you know what I mean? |
| It’s the Kid Capri, in full flair |
| And we gon' put it on a little somethin' like this |
| Big L, c’mon! |
| Lord Finesse (He be puttin' it on) |
| My man Buckwild (He be puttin' it on and on) |
| My man Fat Joe (He be puttin' it on) |
| Showbiz and A.G. (Yeah, they be puttin' it on and on) |
| I can’t forget Diamond D (He be puttin' it on) |
| The whole D.I.T.C. (Yeah, they be puttin' it on and on) |
| And of course Kid Capri (Yeah, I be puttin' it on) |
| The whole N.Y.C. (Yeah, we be puttin' it on and on) |
| And I’m out |