Songwriters: Thornton, Keith;

South Bronx, New York



Is it live, live, live, live, live?

Is it live, live, live, live, live?

Is it live, live, live, live, live?



I heard your CD is wack, wasn't fucking impressed

Who's the nigga with the big mouth?

I live [Incomprehensible] and bit off with a lion's mouth

Your hype man sound like a bitch that switch



Y'all niggas need to be around when my dick itch

Yo, TNT these niggas acting wild like they homo

But they trying to see me fuck it, I'm a pull up in a Ford van

Let these niggas know I'm a give 'em a permanent suntan



Walk in your studio session

Damage your crew in the vocal booth

With a thirty-inch Smith and Wesson

Dr. Dooom on your intercom pressing your girl

All night with a fucking bomb



I'm a move the tattoos off all these MCs

Let me make a sandwich first with government cheese

Uncle Black got a new sawed-off

When them booty kids show up we gone blast their ass off



Niggas be mean mugging wide eyed smoking that dust

I'm a send Tony Lou with a bazooka

Blow smoke in a tour bus, in a yellow Caprice Classic

I got a wig on them, city boys ain't gon' recognize all four of us



Jay and John with fifty cousins from the Bolding family

We roll and amp G, what the fuck y'all talking about?

I'm moving a different route

Grab the carbines from under the couch



See you on the Ferris wheel at Coney Island

I'm not gon' be smiling

Magnum waiting for your ass

Y'all gon' see my face, fuck a mask



Is it live, live, live, live, live?

Is it live, live, live, live, live?

Is it live, live, live, live, live?

Is it live, live, live, live, live?



Smearing your mailbox with peanut butter and jelly

With pickles from the deli

Black shoe polish on your glass table

I'm ready and able



Going on the roof when the pay-per-view fight come on

Click off the cable, harass you to move

Leaving poisoned sick rat coleslaw around your toilet stool

While you scream ''fuck you''



I'm across the street eating Popeye's Cajun rice

In a station wagon with hot beans

Taking a coffee break back in the house



Giving your Chihuahuas

Ex-lax with a hot bowl of Quaker State

Leaving the front room, dropping bombs

On your fur coat with a box kaboom



Watching the Mets putting shit

On your TV sets in the shower

You won't be able to watch a program

With remote controls for seventy hours



Check out your sore ribs, the screen is gritty

Everybody's starting to look green on Rap City

Take your receipt, give your wallet with nine hundred bucks

Or your credit card to a retarded kid in a wheel-chair



Coming up the street walking by the main avenue

I'm passing you with a leather coat that looks similar to yours

Fuck you, you looking at me, I'm a start walking behind you

Act like I'm pantomiming you



Talking to police men, chewing a arm

And joined by a black and white squad car

With binoculars watching you very far

What's up motherfuckers?



Is it live, live, live, live, live?

Is it live, live, live, live, live?

Is it live, live, live, live, live?

Is it live, live, live, live, live?

Is it live, live, live, live, live?