Big L – Stretch & Bob Freestyle (’98) – Don & Sacha Intro ft. Donald Phinazee, & Sacha Jenkins

Big L – Stretch & Bob Freestyle (’98) – Don & Sacha Intro (ft. Donald Phinazee & Sacha Jenkins) MP3 Download

Big L’s infamous ’98 freestyle gets a poignant prelude with reflections from brother Donald Phinazee and journalist Sacha Jenkins, blending Harlem legacy with raw bars on Harlem’s Finest: Return of the King.

Harlem’s lyrical legend Big L (Lamont Coleman) delivers a dual-layered gem in Stretch & Bob Freestyle (’98) – Don & Sacha Intro, where intimate spoken-word reflections from his brother Donald Phinazee and hip-hop chronicler Sacha Jenkins set the stage for L’s explosive 1998 Stretch Armstrong & Bobbito radio freestyle.

As track 10 on the posthumous powerhouse Harlem’s Finest: Return of the King, released via Mass Appeal Records.

Full Lyrics: Sing Along to Big L ft. Donald Phinazee & Sacha Jenkins – Stretch & Bob Freestyle (’98) – Don & Sacha Intro

[Intro: Donald Phinazee & Sacha Jenkins]
[Donald Phinazee]: Man, Lamont… L… he was the spark, you know? From 139th, where we lost so much, but his words? They keep the fire lit. Even in ’98, on that radio, he was untouchable—spittin’ truth mixed with that wild energy. Harlem raised him raw.

[Sacha Jenkins]: Yeah, and that Stretch & Bob session? Peak L. No filter, just pure Harlem venom. But behind the punchlines, it’s the struggle—the brothers we lost, the block that shaped him. This one’s for the real ones who remember the cipher kings.

[Transition: Hosts]
[Bobbito]: Aight, let me kick some more shit, one more time. Yeah-yeah, aight, aight.
[Big L]: I got some new shit for y’all to play to, ya know?
[Bobbito]: Okay good Big L!
[Stretch]: Tell me if this was suffice, or if it’s somethin’ mayo… outta here.

[Verse 1: Big L]
Fuck all the glamours and glitz, I plan to get rich
I’m from New York and never get pierced by a bitch
You know my attitude is an additude
Stack chips in altitude
If niggas don’t like me, they hate me too
I don’t give a fuck, I bust my gun
Have a nigga runnin’ like he late for the bus
I don’t give a fuck who’s the heaviest rap dude
Even if we scrap, you’ll be buried in a cactus
I roll dice, holes in my ice, roll chicks
Gold tooths, Rolls Royce, roll whips
Rolex, roll chicks, cold licks
I throw slugs at idiots, no love for city cops
I sport a pretty watch, eight-hundred and fifty rocks
I’m makin’ wonderful figures
I don’t fuck with none of you niggas
I might pull out this gun on your niggas and rob every last one of you niggas
[Bobbito]: YEAHHH!

[Verse 2: Big L]
Aight, let me kick some more shit, one more time
Yo, I’m not in the mood, son, so don’t push me tonight
Plus I fucked your little sister and that pussy was right
That pussy was tight, grippin’ my dick like a pair of pliers
You fuckin’ snitch, right now you prolly wearin’ wires
It’s not a joke, so as soon as he laugh
I’ma strip him naked and stick a long broom in his ass
[Bobbito: Ouch]
[Stretch: Oh, word]
Leave him heart-broken, make him quit rap and start smokin’
My album is done, so no it ain’t no parts open
I’m not a sweet stud, I’m a street thug
That’s quick to beat a nigga like a cheap rug, till he leak blood
You sure soft, watched you get robbed by a small nigga
What, you froze up? Call me the Paul Bearer
I’ll have you takin’ a cab to get your own gun from your house
To bust me, and you still won’t bust me
I’ll take two to the dome, barely groan
Bury me, niggas chant my name near my tombstone
Yo, I ran through every bitch in my path
I was fuckin’ chicks in the ass when I was six-and-a-half {*laughing*}
Yo, I’ma take you out your misery
[Stretch: Yeah right!]
And after this, nigga, put you in the social study book cause you’re History
Yeah {*Laughing*}
[Bobbito: Yo, I’m gonna give you my math]
Aight
[Bobbito: I’m gonna give you my history]
[Stretch: That’s one I’m not gonna play for my mom]
[Bobbito: Yeah]
[Stretch: ‘Anthony, I haven’t heard the show in so long. Give me tape…’ Not this one.]

[Verse 3: Big L]
Ayo I want y’all to check out my technique, it’s unique
Cause when I speak, I can have a crowd bouncin’ in the street
I wreck mics, hardcore, rap terror
I don’t wear Armani, I pull a strap terror
I hate you, fake niggas try to sound like me
Y’all yappin’ about gats, but y’all sound like me
[Repeated ad-libs and echoes fade]

[Outro: Hosts & Big L]
(What?)
[Big L]: I’m tired
[Bobbito]: For somebody tired, that wasn’t, that wasn’t too bad!