Lord Finesse - Actual Facts (feat. Grand Puba, Large Professor & Sadat X)

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Tommy Boy Music is a legendary Hip Hop & Electronic record label founded in New York City in 1981. The label is credited with launching the careers of notable legends Afrika Bambaataa, Coolio, Queen Latifah, House of Pain, De La Soul, and Naughty By Nature.

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Lyrics:
[Intro]
"That’s right"
"That’s right"

[Chorus]

[Verse 1: Sadat X]
When you say the name X, think synonymous with fame
Only drawn love off the mention of my name
I got a rhyme or two left then I’ma blend to the side
Go out on top like Jim Brown in his peak
I get wreck, like, every week and get my freak on
Who dares to speak on?
My armed forces recon, penetratin’ like decon
Guerilla tactics, stage theatrics
She’s layin’ on the mattress, I’m hikin’ up the black dress
Finesse called on me to bless, I pulled the S off of my
Varsity sweater, fine-tuned to the letter
So, let’s make these stacks and max, relax with wax
To tracks, receive facts with my picture in a cowboy hat
Now, top that, ayo, kid, top that
Kid got blown away at exactly where you’re sittin’
Just the other day, but nobody’s admittin’ to the crime
I’m an MC, not an M.D., the best in history
Or maybe one of the top three, says myself, no diggedy

[Verse 2: Large Professor]
I be synonymous to king, fling niggas to the mat
Like an acrobat, flippin’ the mental ass-whippin’
To serve when I unnerve another wack jack imposter tryna fraud
You gots to get the fuck down with the Lord Finesse
Whether you think you’re pimp status or the best
Mad crazy or stupid, find a hot beat and loop it
For what it’s worth, I’ve been a hip-hopper from birth
Try to disrespect and get your ass played up like a Smurf
I’m runnin’ over the track, type of nigga to stack
One million, hit my moms and then fuckin’ make a trillion to start
Showin’ the world who’s the man with the heart
That’s about to blast off on these kids that’s mad soft
Don’t fuck with Large Professor or you’ll get your ass dwarfed
So, uh, say no more, them niggas that’s the raw
Large Profess’, Lord Finesse and ‘Dat X for the tour
And Grand Puba, who’s probably comin’ back from Aruba
With the skill to build, I’m sayin’, “Peace, y’all niggas chill”

[Chorus]

[Verse 3: Grand Puba]
Dig it, I be that nigga with the creamy-ass rhyme flow
My shit’s so hot, I’ll burn the ass of an Eskimo
I’m sayin’, though, it be the grand flippin’ flam
Givin’ love to my fans and you know this, man
My composition leaves competition wishin’
They can’t be in my position ‘cause I did it with no ass-kissin’
"I’ll Be There" like Michael Jackson
And "You Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough"
And I’ll be damned if my nose drop
I speak actual facts on how I feel
Don’t worry, baby, with Puba, there’s no waitin’ just to exhale
I bag dimes like Jada, step through playa haters
Keep niggas movin’ like a fuckin’ escalator
Because it’s poetry in motion, Puba keep it smooth like lotion
Keepin’ MCs lost like Billy Ocean
Dig what I’m sayin’? I be a buck 85 on the weigh-in

[Verse 4: Lord Finesse]
Check it, It goes dip-dip divin’, check who you’re sizin’
It’s the wise civilizin’, pockets still risin’
When I drop it, I’m futuristic like fiber optics
Didn’t buy my album? You played yourself, should’ve copped it
None could beat my elite rhymes
Throwing up your hands, kid? Hah, that better be a peace sign
You don’t want it, that’s my steelo, how we on it
When we do our thing, niggas spread the word like informants
We’re still advancin’, skills enhancin’
We got opponents shook and offbeat like white people dancin’
We’re too bugged, true thugs quick to get in that
Ass in ways that homos wouldn’t approve of
I’m not yappin’, just rappin’, don’t care if you’re gold or platinum
Don’t think it can’t happen
Whether with a beat or acapella, it’s the mic Rockefeller
Strictly out for the mozzarella
Fuck guns and toolies, we don’t portray movies
It’s yours truly that’s smoothly, still sounds groovy
You can’t do me or diss me, don’t try to get with me
My style is tricky like spellin’ Mississippi
Strictly, come and get me if you could flip me
If this flow was whiskey, I’d have you motherfuckers tipsy
The ghetto type players that caters flavors to you spectators
The Rhymesayers, catch you later

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