作曲 : LL Cool J/Hubert Laws/Charlie Parker 向LL COOL J 致敬! Mr. Smith Uh Mr. Smith， Mr Smith， Mr Smith Uh Mr Smith， it’s the bomb y’knowhutI’msayin? Mr Smith Mr Smith， word up kid， yeah Mr Smith， check it out I’m goin to the top leavin smoke in my trail Bitch ass gangstas put that ass on sale And even if I’m twice as expensive as the rest when I go for dolo you ain’t checkin for nuttin less My strategy is splittin brain cavity’s It’s ya majesty bringin you a tragedy Yeah， on the butcher block slice her like a ox When it’s time to get down， nigga I jam like a Glock I bust thru all types of red tape and sue papes Niggas come old but they always wanna infiltrate I’m cuttin snakes thru the belly witta icepick and scoopin hotties， a strong aisle of flip trips It’s the rebirth of murkin niggas once again I drain with ink and put your blood in my pen I’m breakin ribs til somethin gives A nigga got to live and Mr Smith is power god， kid Mr Smith you got the shit sewed up Work ya thang baby， show em how to blow up What? You wanna do what? You lack the vitality originality， so face reality I’m on some ole wild shit， ya niggas can’t get wit Matter of fact， mornin yawn and suck a dick Nah hold up， the fuck is goin on? All these cartoon character MC’s gettin airborne Takin off like a hot air balloon Goin up up up， oh no kaboom Bring your heroes down to ground zero Shotty grippin ya grill like Pesci and DeNiro I’m on some shit， throats is gettin shit Tell them ole Jap niggas they need to go and stick it cos when it comes to this rap shit I’m mad wicked The grand sire bringin flavour to the whole game Mr Smith is my motherfuckin name Mr Smith you got the shit sewed up Work ya thang baby， show em how to blow up To the bridge Mr Smith （I was a mack since birth） Talkin bout Mr Smith （I invented the taadow!） Uh Talkin bout Mr Smith Talkin bout Mr Smith Talkin bout Time’s up， your rhyme’s up， mix the lines up I’m about to blow the spot up with that divine touch I got the magnetic energetic lyrical calasthetic Ya better call a medic cos ya look pathetic Guan boy it’s the champion Mr Smith Your niggas couldn’t raise up with a forklift Cocked the hammer， peep out the grammar It’s hard like Bacardi and hot like a house party All your so-called flavour niggas is deaded Your next step is where ya headed so don’t forget it Your rhymes is beat， your steelo’s scarred to scrape When you scream you sound muddy like a bled teeth I get’cha open like f-lay， ’tack you when I spray Lethal compositions around your way I’m the maniacal murderous Mr James Smith Rippin ya ass out the frame with my verbal gift Mr Smith you got the shit sewed up Work ya thang baby， show em how to blow up 终