Track 4 on Daddy's Home

Rap Genius


September 13th, 1994

Show and Prove Lyrics

Ft: Jay Z, Ol' Dirty Bastard, Sauce, Scoob & Shyheim
Produced By: DJ Premier


You pyonged “Big Daddy Kane – Show and Prove”

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[Scratches: DJ Premier]
Bust a move, we show and prove

[Verse 1: Scoob]
Ha ha, hey hey, laugh now nigga
My man's right behind you, Kane pull the trigger
I don't play, I'm from the hill where shit is real
And I'll be on your ass like bugs on a windshield
So bring your grip or you can think twice
Cause I got more rhymes than a five pound bag of rice
I'm hitting hard, oh word, I'm gon' rock it
Once the shit drops, that's dough to the pocket
I cut hair and you still can't get no part
You couldn't deal with Scoob if we was playing cards
But if I got beef then it's time for code red
My gun is like a ho, it be taking mad niggas to bed
So hurry up and skedaddle
Even if you join the army, you still couldn't battle
So where you from? England, you somebody great?
You burning Scoob, "I don't think so mate"
I got the style that get you open like a bag of smoke
I'll have your friends saying "Ah man, that shit is dope"
Leave me alone when I'm rocking on the microphone
And play like E.T. and phone your black ass home
Yo Sauce, if you're down with the groove
Get on the mic and won't ya show and prove

[Verse 2: Sauce]
When I flip tracks, so gimme my dick, back
How you got dope like Sauce, money you didn't do it
I write my own with bigger hope, drink of Scope
Rhymes too drastic, bastard, pull hookers like elastic
NBA style, fantastic
No time to bite, but I just might, tonight
I write left-handed cause I like to grab my dick with my right
Who could ever say that I don't get plenty play
Win lose or draw, I'm booking whores, anyway
If I was Fred, I think I'd have to bone Betty
Sucking and lucking, hey, niggas I'm ducking, nay
Nada no never meaning ain't no motherfuckin way
Rappers get gassed come on and get fast
One line and that's fear
Rappers get so damn pussy they gotta go for a pap smear
So Shyheim, if you're down with the groove
Get on the mic it's time to show and prove

[Verse 3: Shyheim]
I spark the mic like weed that's in a cipher
And I get girls open like a reggae song by Tiger
So check me out, as I flip this here track kid
And make mad noise like a Metallica record
I'm psycho, a villain to the styles I be killing
When I'm thrusted, and all competition gets dusted
Cause I rock the world from U.S.A. to Asia to Russia
If your shit stinks I'mma flush ya, then bust ya
Like a crazy man from Cali son
My jams be packed like a Farrakhan rally, what?
You know my style, I put the F in effin foul
The Rugged Child lock shit down like Rikers Isle
And got more girls than a trailer load with Shabba
More Super than Cat, I'm the punani Don Dada

So Big Daddy, if you're down with the groove my man
Get on the mic and won't ya show and prove

[Verse 4: Big Daddy Kane]
Now tell me who is the man?
With the high-potent lyrics no rapper can ever stand
And stepping to me, thinking I can be touched?
Not even Michael Jordan'll gamble that much, yo
I come for your title kid, run it!
Or else get hit with the ultimate, too legit skit
Ahh yeah, that's that shit
Drop lyrics on ya, strong as ammonia
What I just shown ya, real lyrics doggone ya
Look inside my rap book at every text my man
And see that I got, more essays than the Mexican

The Messiah that's feared great, leaving rappers in a weird state
Scared straight, for their prepared fate
Strong as an elephant, intelligent, compelling and elegant
So well in it with every single element
And competition gets none
If I was wearing pantyhose you still couldn't give me no run
I see the way you're trying to get to me
But with that speech impedi-ment, man you gotta come better G
You're hitting all the wrong switches troop begin again
Mumble mouth rappers couldn't last a minute with

The non-resistable, non-competible
No No No I'm not saying I'm the best
I'm just saying I'm fucking incredible
And let's just make one more thing understood
Get on the mic it's time to show and prove

[Verse 5: Jay-Z]
One checking it two, checking it three
Aight G!
I'm breaking MC's up like EPMD
And these nuts if you rappers trying to see me
I'm buckwild with styles, ta-dow
I've been in it running a hundred miles I'm well endowed, baby gal
Uhh, the greatest nigga to touch it, you niggas can't fuck with
And ain't no eating me up, you fast fuckin with jigga
I'm like Prince jeans, I bring the ass out a nigga

I'm the cocky breed, I'm dope like poppy seed
I live one rent from besides that be
Between get off my dick and stop jockin me
When I bust a rhyme you're diggin the sound
I know you loving the way it's, goin down baby
Get on the mic and show and prove

[Verse 6: Ol Dirty Bastard]
Come on
Wu-Tang killa bees on a swarm
Rain on your college ass, disco dorm

Slippery when wet and don't you ever forget
You couldn't get a flick, of the hype outfit
Because the way that I dress this style mad wild
Enough to make a crowd of women scream "Ow!"
Whether at a party or just in bed
All thoughts on Ason, keep that in your head
Yuh, my beats are funky and my rhymes are spunky
I don't know, I ask my momma she don't know
She says "go ask your god damned father!"
It's all about me in the place to be
Niggas think they all that, yo, that shit is G
Mad game and it's a motherfucking shame
How many enemies wanna claim the name
Of Ason, who carries on like a manager

Yo! Sounds fly, right?
