Against All Odds
| Title | Against All Odds |
|---|---|
| Artist | Busta Rhymes |
| Album | E.L.E. (Extinction Level Event): The Final World Front |
| Release Date | 1998-12-15 |
| Description | ? |
| Lyrics | [Produced by Jamal] [Intro: Rampage] Uh-huh, uh-huh! [Verse 1: Baby Sham | Rampage] Ayo, pause your pencils as hollow tips get in you Bots cutting to slice your face, you rhymes is natural (Yeah) Hold two lives and four wives up in the crack capsule Flipmode, cruddy styles has been past you Rush pass (Uh), you couldn't touch cash If it was under your nose like a mustache, nigga, you what ass Show your whole cheek (Yeah), slugs with no heat (Uh) Diamonds that don't break (Yeah), you thugs is so sweet [Verse 2: Rampage] I float so much (Uh) I get seasick (Uh) Flipmode is the Squad who I bees with (Uh), Who I get plucks with And push German V's with (Uh) Rampage (Yeah), I'm psychic, I can see shit 'Til the next millennium you not gon be shit (Uh, yeah) Scratch your name off the list (Uh), cut your wrist (Uh) You know the issue (Uh), I'm official When you die none of your niggas is really gon' miss you (Miss you, miss you) [Hook: Busta Rhymes | Lord Have Mercy] Flipmode Squad! Here to drop bombs Against all odds! Still remain gods Grip your arm! We always come hard The world is ours! Call a National Guard [Verse 3: Rah Digga | Spliff Star] Here we go, any bitch that rhyme wanna flex, she ass (Yeah) I'm stomping all things like I'm plexi-glass (Yeah) Niggas make way like when they hear sirens (Uh) Treat you like parking too close to fire hydrants (C'mon) All up in the board, kicking back long islands Get your wig split, first solid defiance (Uh) Rah, Earth and sun in this Imperial alliance (Yeah) You do the science (Yo) You might also like[Verse 4: Spliff Star] I'm getting money shitting, turn intruders into vixens (What?) Fall off beeper, uh-uh, niggas stay getting (Yeah) Dutty nigga for life, that's how Spliff's living (Uh) Throwing niggas in caskets tired of a yellow ribbons I buck my duck if you touch my one Rather Jamaican than belly boy make you people for fun Fat Man's Son, street educated The colonel of ghetto jurors, still thug related, haa! [Hook: Busta Rhymes | Lord Have Mercy] Flipmode Squad! Here to drop bombs Against all odds! Still remain gods Grip your arm! We always come hard The world is ours! Call a National Guard (Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah) [Verse 5: Lord Have Mercy] We enemies of three strike felony laws Gorilla dicking K-Y jelly for whores Lapdances, trap grands without laws My baby moms, three eighty for your arms that bust with loud force (Rawrrrrr) The ghetto with us, that bang Makaveli in trucks That whatever the fuck to give a cheddar in chunks Fugazi chains, fake thugs with lazy aid Track marks, rap stars and a raid of aids [Verse 6: Busta Rhymes] Yo, what you want from us, now visualize more of us Stay toting under my given flavor from Nauticas (Haa) Destroy every arch-rival or any challenger (Haa!) Make you remember this day, nigga, mark it on your calendar (Haa!) I'm showing you something, you ain't saying nothing (Haa!) My niggas make noise like a bunch of volcanoes erupting (Haa!) None of y'all niggas really wanna war The type of nigga to crash my plane in your building in the name of Allah [Hook: Busta Rhymes | Lord Have Mercy] Flipmode Squad! Here to drop bombs Against all odds! Still remain gods Grip your arm! We always come hard The world is ours! Call a National Guard |