Craig G and Will Pack Freestyle (Scenes of the Underworld)

[Intro: Craig G]
What? Ha. Cover your ears, son. Uh. Cover your eyes. It’s Craig G and Will Pack, uh. For Eddie Ill & D.L. Watch y’all niggas get smacked, uh. Yeah, it don’t stop to stop, it don’t quit, uh. It don’t stop and, uh, it don’t quit, uh. Now watch me set this shit off. Ha. Ayyo, ayyo

[Verse 1: Craig G]
[?] faking jacks about rapid firing
Brandishing iron, that nigga Craig G won’t be retiring
Rappers, I’ll be firing, blasting, shooting
Verbally executing, diluting
Sodium crystals. Rappers get bust with pistols
This shit will flip you, rip you, strip you
Kick you just like the World Cup, got your girl up
In my crib, ripping, ‘bout to hurl up
Bust a flow, I’ll rip parties apart—I’m on the go
Like a magazine, I’ll use my spray paint can to tag a fiend
Use my Timberlands to stomp a fiend, stamp a fiend
Flip on niggas like a trampoline. Call you man to see
My shit’s swift when I rip, shift from first to fifth
And with this microphone shit, [?]

[Verse 2: Will Pack]
Nigga, you better be cool in the game ‘cause my wild
Style’s more super fly than on the vials
[?] when I see
[?] and the devils, they be coming after me
“Think” and you’ll see the illness in Phil Collins
Or maybe this bitch Lyn Collins
But, no, I shouldn’t say that ‘cause I’m no misogynist
But I do this and rhyme, I flip on tracks
And then I come off the wrist when I
See the MPC-3000. Then I
Come with some serum type shit that flows through your vein
While my man on top of the pain, uh

[Verse 3: Craig G]
On the plane, I order my food. I’m rude
Keep my shoes off, order fried chicken if I’m in the mood
Y’all niggas suck. Word up, call your rubber duckies
Y’all niggas are wack. In fact, my rhymes’ll make your night lucky
Pink hearts, orange moons, green stars, blue clovers
Y’all niggas’ game is over—I’ll roll it like a Rover
Call Jehovah on Saturday. Rappers get
Smacked on a madder day. Put your bat away
From Matapan back to the trash can, you niggas get
Smashed, and rip parties apart when I blast and
My style’s incredible. Hardy har har
I’ll stay in front of you like your Boston when they say, “Cah”
Check the technique I rip. Ah, y’all niggas get smacked
Bring it back. I’ll deliver with bat, give you the shivers in back
Make your chick shake, curl up like snail
My rhymes are incredible and Craig G shall prevail

[Verse 4: Will Pack]
Ayyo, my nigga, these niggas claim they freestyles
Is really free, but they all on chains in slavery
Back in the days when they laying
In ships, but I’ve got these verbals that will rip
And chase your ass off the block. I’ve got figures of speech
That wait at the end of the alley with their 9 upon the clock
Pon cock. And then I say, “Is you clocking
In the projects? But maybe you meet me at the dock and?”
And then I be rocking [?]
For niggas with rock skulls and [?]
On their faces, paint it. Biting niggas’ raps
Off of heads and their neck feel the pain, kid
But when I say that my man
We do shows all over the world for the whole lifespan
W-I-L-P-A-C-K represent
All overseas and then bring it back to BK
For my man when we coming for the jam
Ed Ill and my nigga Ill from lifespan
Uh, Craig G, my man
I’m tapping you and
You got the ill type of [?] plan

[Verse 5: Craig G]
Uh, I fell through the screen door. I said it before
Y’all niggas get cut like cold cakes—we’re raw
Word up—see it over by the seashore
I’ll rock it from [?]. You’ll see three more
Coming behind me like Cancer Man
On the X-Files. My style’s incredible, I’ll slam the plan
Just like Bam Bam Bigelow, rappers come up
Then I’ll tell y’all ne-g-roes to get the nigga slow
I’ll put you in the shovel. My style way above you
Just like clouds and ions in the system that be raining
No explaining. I jump on the plane and remain in
The game like a fucking embalming fluid [?]
[?]. Rappers want to battle? Shut the fuck up
And let your rhymes grow up because they’re not adult
I’m agile. I’ll flip like Mary Lou Retton
Throw rappers like rice at a wedding. You’ll cancel all your bets and
Smacking, backing, leaving emcees reacting
Shooting throughs in your face like John Paxson
Take to the days like that old gang school taxing
Rapping, take emcees with your jaw flapping
Acting, but my name ain’t Lou Gossett
Give me the microphone and, like dynamite, I’ma toss it
Floss it just like Johnson and Johnson
Bust you in your face Charles Bronson. Once in
America, that nigga Craig G will bring the terror for
All y’all motherfuckers, you suck and whatever, huh
Will Pack, Craig G. Nigga, feel that
If not, get smacked thirty fucking rows back. Hold back
C-R-A-I-G’s about to smack y’all niggas
Attack y’all niggas, pow, flat, flat y’all niggas
Like flapjacks on tracks, black, I smack that
Over the park fence. Rappers get docking
Just like catfish. Back with
Rip parties apart and smack it over [?]
Bust you in your face like a boxer
C-R-A-I-G and Craig G be like the orange juice to vodka
What?

[Interlude 1: Craig G and Will Pack]
Will Pack: What, what? Freestyle. Have fun. Hip hop. Freestyle. Let’s have fun
Craig G: Eddie Ill & D.L., Craig G, Jameson. Eddie Ill & D.L., my man Sean C. Eddie Ill & D.L., my man J-to-the-A-to-the-M-to-the-E, uh

[Verse 6: Craig G]
[?]. Yes, I’m fresh
My man [?], the kid nice, we all bless
Put your hands up in the air, you feel stress
And when I take the mic, there’ll be one less
Emcee, suckers