15. Principle Of The New School (1992)

“I recite hype rhymes that shine like rainbows / I pick up the microphone and play MCs like game shows / And suckas are coppin’ pleas while I’m clockin’ gs / Try stoppin’ these, lyrics n**** please / Cause my rhymes are ill like a kid with a bad cold / Your style is mad old, you’re small as a tadpole / This is a giant here, an MC rap pioneer / Before you battle me chief, go throw on your riot gear…”

“Principle of the New School” is a raw, early glimpse of Big L’s lyricism, recorded in 1992 but left unreleased until 2008. Produced by Showbiz, the track is a bit rough around the edges sonically, but it’s a showcase of Big L’s relentless bars and effortless command of the mic. Spitting with the kind of confidence and wit that would later define his career, L casually obliterates his competition while laying out his vision for the future of rap.

Though it didn’t make the cut for any official releases until Lord Finesse included it in his Rare Selections EP Vol. 2, “Principle of the New School” captures the essence of Big L’s early days. It’s unpolished, yet undeniably potent—a reminder of his untapped potential before Lifestylez ov da Poor & Dangerous cemented his legacy. This track is an essential listen for anyone wanting to understand where Big L’s fire began.

14. Platinum Plus (2000)

“My underground n*****, y’all can shine with me / Got my own label now, so y’all can sign with me / Y’all can take me from the bottom and climb with me / That’s fine with me, that’s how it was designed to be…”

Over a razor-sharp DJ Premier production, “Platinum Plus” Big L is in full command of his craft—calm, confident, and completely locked in. His lines are dense with internal rhyme and street-coded wit, delivered over a dark, stripped-down backdrop that flips samples from Isaac Hayes and The Stylistics into something cold and propulsive.

Originally pulled from the same verse used on “Still Here,” L’s performance feels built for impact, with a hook that lands hard and leaves room for heavyweight guest Big Daddy Kane to slide in with surgical precision. The energy is calculated, the structure airtight. Every bar moves with intention, and every punchline carries weight.

13. Fed Up With The Bullshit (1995)

“Around my way they shot many teens / And them cops better stop, or I’mma stop em, by any means / The Big L won’t hesitate to cold diss em / And if you ask me, muthaf*** the whole system / There are too many young black brothers doin life bids / Cause justice means ‘just us white kids’ / So take heed to the rhymes I kick / I’m about to flip, cause I’m fed up with that bullsh**…”

Built on a replayed groove from The Isley Brothers’ “Between the Sheets,” this standout cut from Lifestylez ov da Poor & Dangerous finds Big L speaking plainly about police violence, discrimination, and systemic harassment. His delivery is controlled but biting, drawing a clear line between lived experience and lyrical expression.

Without shifting his voice or compromising his tone, L paints a picture of everyday injustice: cops abusing their power, cab drivers refusing rides, and the emotional fatigue that builds from being constantly profiled. The production keeps things smooth, but the content never relaxes. Every bar is a rejection of silence, a refusal to let these realities pass without acknowledgment.

Commissioned in part to balance out the darker moments on the album, the track holds its ground as a direct and grounded moment of social commentary. No theatrics—just a raw voice refusing to accept the status quo.

12. I Don't Understand It (1995)

“Hey yo, I’m serious, Big L ain’t playin’ games / I should get foul and buck wild and start sayin’ names / But deep down inside you know who you are / Your rhymes are not up to par, you fake superstar / And that really gets on my nerve / When a rapper gets the credit that he don’t deserve / Goin platinum and don’t have no  soul / Some rappers are mad nice and don’t even go gold / I don’t like the way it’s goin down / Because it should be the other way around…”

Fueled by frustration and razor-sharp wit, “I Don’t Understand It” plays like a lyrical open letter to the industry. Big L unloads with precision, tearing into weak emcees, industry phonies, and sell-outs who water down the craft. Over a stripped-down Lord Finesse production, L vents with controlled fire, calling out the gap between true skill and industry recognition.

Every verse hits a nerve—part confessional, part takedown. His tone is exasperated but focused, never drifting into chaos. He’s not just rhyming to rhyme; he’s documenting the grind, the gatekeeping, and the baffling reality of overlooked talent in a game too quick to crown the inauthentic.

The hook—simple, direct, repeated like a mantra—captures the heart of the track: how can this be happening? Even decades later, the sentiment lands with the same sting.

11. Unexpected Flava (1993)

“I’m gettin’ high rates in all states / Makin’ papes with the crew called: Diggin’ in the Crates / I’m a rap crowd amazer, microphone dazer / Big L is the man with the unexpected flava…”

An unearthed gem from Big L’s early demo tape, “Unexpected Flava” is a raw showcase of the lyrical sharpness that caught Columbia’s attention. Produced by Large Professor over a beat originally crafted as a remix for Lord Finesse’s “Isn’t He Something,” the track rides a dusty, neck-snapping groove that frames L’s bars with understated grit.

There’s no hook here—just L going off for two minutes straight, stacking internal rhymes, slick punchlines, and tight cadences. Even at this early stage, his control is unmistakable. He delivers with swagger, never rushing, never dragging, letting the syllables breathe just enough to land with impact.

Though recorded in the early ‘90s, “Unexpected Flava” wouldn’t surface officially until 2008, when it appeared on Rare Selections Vol. I. By then, it had already become the stuff of collector lore—one of the key demo tracks that helped open industry doors. From the jump, L knew exactly what kind of noise he wanted to make.

10. Flamboyant (2000)

“Make sure my mic is loud and my production is tight / Better watch me ’round your girl if you ain’t f*****’ her right / You damn playa haters never want to see me blow / Flamboyant Entertainment CEO…” 

Released posthumously in 2000, “Flamboyant” is a commanding reminder of Big L’s legacy and lyrical control. Over a lush, slow-burning instrumental laced with warm keys and crisp drums, L delivers two tightly packed verses that balance street bravado with sharp charisma. His wordplay stays locked in from the first bar—playful, unfiltered, and self-assured without missing a beat.

The title pays homage to Flamboyant Entertainment, the independent label L founded just before his passing. There’s a sense of ownership in every line: of his sound, his image, his city. He raps like a man who knows exactly what lane he’s in and who it’s built for. From slick one-liners to harsh warnings, he flexes with ease—Harlem’s grit and flash distilled into a polished, speaker-ready anthem.

“Flamboyant” went on to become Big L’s most commercially successful single, a bittersweet milestone that also underscored just how much more he had to offer. Even in absence, his voice cuts through, fully in control and impossible to ignore.

9. Let Em Have It L (1995)

“Facts on tracks I recite well / Everybody wanna be like Mike, but Mike wanna be like L…” 

The final track on Lifestylez Ov Da Poor & Dangerous is a pure showcase of Big L’s lyrical agility and raw charisma. Over a haunting Craig Boogie production built around Bob James’ “Nautilus,” L charges forward with tightly-wound verses full of wild metaphors, violent humor, and razor-sharp timing. The energy never dips—each line is delivered with precision, swagger, and a grin that cuts.

There’s a chaotic thrill in how L blends comedy and menace: “I knocked out so many teeth the tooth fairy went bankrupt” hits with the same weight as the more graphic, street-rooted bars that follow. The hook, built around a call-and-response chant of “Let ‘em have it L,” reinforces the track’s aggressive spirit, serving as both a warning and an invitation.

According to Lord Finesse, this was the space where L simply wanted to “get his rocks off”—no concept, just bars. And he fills it with relentless momentum. With three verses of uninterrupted fire, this closer leaves no question about L’s command on the mic and in the booth.

8. M.V.P. (1995)

“If rap was a game I’ll be M.V.P / The most valuable poet on the M.I.C….”

The second single from Lifestylez Ov Da Poor & Dangerous, “M.V.P.” blends streetwise charisma with a smooth, sample-driven backdrop. Produced by Lord Finesse, the album version flips the piano loop from DeBarge’s “Stay With Me” into a mellow foundation that lets Big L glide effortlessly through each verse. The acronym takes on fresh meaning here—“Most Valuable Poet”—and L wears the title without hesitation.

While the video version of the track used a glossier remix aimed at wider appeal, the album cut holds the real weight. The beat is warm but never soft, and L keeps the edge sharp, mixing charm with slick punchlines and Harlem braggadocio. The tone is laid-back, but the bars are still laced with precision and bite.

Lord Finesse once explained that the track came together with a clear goal: something recognizable, something that could move beyond just hardcore heads. The result is a cut that still bumps today, bridging accessible production with no-frills lyricism. “M.V.P.” isn’t about compromise—it’s about balance, and Big L knew exactly how to ride that line.

7. Size Em Up (2000)

“Mics I steadily smoke, rhymes cleverly wrote / As long as I can rock a crowd I’mma never be broke…” 

Released posthumously on The Big Picture, “Size ‘Em Up” is a sharp showcase of Big L in full command—confident, battle-ready, and fully immersed in Harlem grit. Originally appearing as the B-side to “Ebonics” in 1998, the track later found its way onto the album that dropped a year after his death, anchoring the project with pure street energy.

Over a stripped-down beat with raw bounce, Big L delivers two verses packed with menacing precision and trademark wit. Every line lands with purpose—whether he’s clowning opponents, calling out weak industry moves, or painting vivid scenes of the life he knew. There’s a cold edge to the humor here, and the pacing never lets up.

The hook, built for the streets, keeps things moving without getting in the way. L’s tone is razor sharp, his presence magnetic—there’s no doubt who’s in control. He brings Harlem into the booth with him, not just as a backdrop but as a force in the writing itself. L knew exactly what kind of noise he wanted to make, and this one hits with full impact.

6. Street Struck (1995)

“Yo, where I’m from it ain’t cookies and cream / There’s a lot of peer pressure growin up as a young teen / You never know when you gonna get wet / Cause mad clowns be catchin wreck with a tec just to get a rep…”

On “Street Struck,” Big L shifts gears, offering a clear-eyed message to young people navigating the pressures of inner-city life. The production is steady and restrained, giving space for L’s voice to cut through with urgency and clarity. It’s a cautionary record rooted in firsthand experience—reflective, grounded, and deeply personal.

Across three verses, L describes the pull of the streets with unflinching honesty. He speaks to the temptations—fast money, peer pressure, the allure of notoriety—and contrasts them with lost potential and tragic outcomes. The refrain drives it home: being “street struck” leads nowhere but a cell or a coffin. He’s not preaching—he’s relating. The writing is vivid and accessible, and the tone remains serious without losing its lyrical edge.

This wasn’t just a label compromise for radio balance—it’s a sincere attempt to pass on hard-earned knowledge. The line between survival and success is thin, and L’s aim here is to make that visible. He warns of wasted talent and lives cut short, delivering each line with the conviction of someone who’s seen it up close.

Four years after the song’s release, Big L himself was killed in a drive-by shooting in Harlem. That tragic reality echoes throughout this track, making “Street Struck” one of the most sobering and human moments in his discography.

5. Devil's Son (1993)

“L’s a rebel on a higher level, go get the shovel / Cause I’m the only son of the motherf****** devil…” 

With “Devil’s Son,” Big L made an unapologetically dark entrance into the game. Released as his first promotional single, the track introduces a teenage L already deep into his signature brand of wild imagination, gallows humor, and intricate rhyme patterns. The concept is twisted by design—he opens by claiming to be the offspring of Satan, detailing a surreal dream laced with acts so outlandish they veer into nightmare territory. But behind the shock value is undeniable lyrical control.

Showbiz’s production plays a crucial role here, layering a haunting loop under vocal samples lifted from early Nas verses—“I went to hell for snuffing Jesus” (from Main Source’s “Live At The BBQ”) and “I’m waving automatic guns at nuns” (from MC Serch’s “Back to the Grill”) are used to chilling effect. The soundscape frames L’s unfiltered bars perfectly, creating a cinematic and unsettling mood.

Originally intended for Lifestylez ov da Poor & Dangerous, the track was ultimately shelved, likely due to its violent content. Still, it circulated widely, becoming a fan favorite and an early example of what would later be called horrorcore. For all its menace, “Devil’s Son” is a display of skill, guts, and vision.

4. Put It On (1994)

“I got the wild style, always been a foul child / My guns go BOOM BOOM, and yo’ guns go pow pow…”

Released as the lead single from Lifestylez ov da Poor & Dangerous, “Put It On” finds Big L threading sharp lyricism through a polished, radio-ready format without losing his edge. Over a bright, bounce-heavy beat from Buckwild, and with Kid Capri providing an energetic hook, the track leans into a more accessible sound while keeping the bars front and center.

Big L wastes no time making his presence felt. His flow is razor-clean, his wordplay lands with precision, and his delivery never breaks stride. Each verse is packed with tightly wound rhymes that show off both his technical ability and his natural charisma on the mic. There’s a swagger to his performance here—confident but unforced, playful without ever getting soft.

The phrase “put it on” works as both a chant and a mission statement. L answers that call with full command, stacking punchlines and internal rhymes without ever sounding crowded or rushed. It’s a demonstration of control: musically tight, lyrically dense, and built for replay.

This is one of the rare instances in his catalog where label pressure led to a more commercial sound—but rather than dilute his style, it offered a different angle. “Put It On” proves Big L could move in broader circles while staying locked into his core. The result is a track that hits hard, sounds clean, and still feels true to the artist behind it.

3. Yes You May Remix (1992)

“I only roll with originators / Chicks stick to my d*** like magnets on refrigerators / I’m a crazy mean lyricist / Many are in fear of this, yeah, so they stand clear of this / And those that refuse the order, Big L bruise and slaughter / N***** hear me and take notes like a news reporter…” 

Long before the record deals and solo LPs, Big L made his presence known on wax with “Yes You May (Remix),” an early ‘90s street gem that remains a testament to raw, unfiltered lyricism. Technically a Lord Finesse track, this remix version doubles as L’s formal introduction to the game—an electrifying debut that leaves no room for doubt about his natural-born talent.

Finesse comes with sharp, charismatic bars as always, but it’s Big L’s verse that flips the switch. Every line hits with the hunger of a newcomer who knows he’s destined for greatness. Over a rugged Showbiz-produced beat, L unleashes a flurry of punchlines, battle-ready metaphors, and razor-sharp internal rhyme schemes. He’s clever, unrelenting, and alarmingly polished for a first-timer, dropping cold-blooded gems like “I’m relieving rappers like Sudafed” and “I’ll bend a rapper like a fender, I’m slender, but far from tender.” It’s not just what he says—it’s how he says it: with authority, precision, and a voice you can’t ignore.

There’s no hook, no polish, no commercial lean—just two elite emcees trading bars for the sport of it. This is hip-hop in its rawest form: stripped-down, competitive, and lyrical to the core. L’s presence is undeniable, and even in the shadow of an established heavyweight like Finesse, he sounds fully in command.

“Yes You May (Remix)” isn’t just a dope track—it’s a piece of history. For anyone tracing the roots of Big L’s legacy, this is the starting point. He stepped to the mic with something to prove, and by the time the verse ends, it’s clear he proved it.

2. Big L & Jay Z Freestyle (1995)

“Nobody can f*** with the way I be killin’ the sh** in rap events / Big L is the n**** you expect to catch wreck in any cassette deck / I’m so ahead of my time, my parents haven’t met yet…” 

Captured on a raw February night in 1995, this freestyle session from Big L and Jay-Z stands as a time capsule of New York’s underground rap scene—ferocious, unpolished, and dripping with potential. Set to the stripped-down, jazzy piano loop of Miilkbone’s “Keep It Real,” what begins as a casual radio appearance transforms into a blistering 10-minute display of lyrical audacity and verbal acrobatics.

Big L opens with a menacing barrage, his lines flaring with criminal wit and unrelenting energy. Each bar is a precise, street-forged weapon, shaped by Harlem’s hard edges. There’s no space for filler; his verses are dense with punchlines, internal rhymes, and stark imagery. The way he paces his flow—aggressive yet nimble—makes every syllable feel like a pressure point. His control is effortless, and his charisma, disarming. L wasn’t auditioning—he was announcing dominance.

Then comes Jay-Z. A lesser-known figure at the time, moving mixtapes by hand and hustling club appearances, he seizes his moment with eccentric rhythm and futuristic flows. Jay’s delivery swerves and lurches off-beat, a scattershot cadence that dances around the pocket before snapping right back into it. His verses are full of layered rhyme schemes and coded wit, but it’s the playfulness—the musicality—that steals attention. As he shifts into near scat-like phrasing, you can hear the gears turning in real time. He’s loose, unpredictable, and entirely magnetic.

What elevates this moment beyond a routine freestyle is the chemistry. The tape captures not only bars, but banter, mic handoffs, and the grainy atmosphere of late-night rap radio. Big L, already a known killer on Stretch & Bobbito’s airwaves, brings Jay in not as a peer, but as someone to watch. In retrospect, that instinct was prophetic.

This (semi)freestyle offers a snapshot of two paths diverging: one already in motion, the other just beginning to spark. Both emcees deliver, but in completely different languages. One with steel-toed precision, the other with jazz-tinted swagger. It’s gritty, immediate, and unforgettable.

1. Ebonics (1999)

“A victim’s a mark / A sweat box is a small club, a ticker’s your heart / Your apartment is your pad / Your old man is your dad / The studio is the lab and heated is mad / I know you like the way I’m freaking it / I talk with slang and I’mma never stop speaking it…”

“Ebonics,” released in 1998 on Big L’s Flamboyant Entertainment imprint, is one of the most distinct and technically focused tracks of his catalog. Built over a filtered soul loop produced by Ron Browz, with a Nas vocal flip from “It Ain’t Hard to Tell” anchoring the hook, the beat stays stripped-down and repetitive, putting the spotlight exactly where it should be: on the verses.

This track isn’t about storytelling or punchline barrages. Instead, L delivers a deadpan, bar-for-bar breakdown of Harlem street slang, turning language itself into a kind of instrument. Every line runs like a coded dictionary entry—terms, meanings, and examples delivered with clarity and rhythm. It’s dense without being difficult, educational without slipping into lecture mode. L gives the definitions and keeps the pace moving, line after line, flipping technical writing into lyrical flow.

The effect is immediate. “My weed smoke is my ‘lye,’ a key of coke is a ‘pie’ / When I’m lifted I’m ‘high,’ with new clothes on, I’m ‘fly’.” Every term fits into the bar structure naturally, the internal rhymes tucked cleanly between short definitions. What could easily become mechanical instead rides with bounce and command. He’s not just listing—he’s performing. By the time he reaches the second and third verses, the rhythm tightens even more. “If your girl is fine, she’s a ‘dime,’ a suit is a ‘vine’ / Jewelry is ‘shine,’ if you in love that mean you ‘blind’.” The tone stays steady, but the complexity ramps up.

“Ebonics” earned Big L a Hip Hop Quotable from The Source for its first verse, and it remains a landmark for the way it centers vernacular with precision and pride. It’s also one of the last tracks released while he was alive, arriving just months before his death in early 1999.

For all its structure, this isn’t a dry track. It hits with charisma, humor, and a local edge that feels grounded in Harlem’s sidewalks and bodegas. “Ebonics” is tight, focused rap craftsmanship—clean in execution, sharp in purpose, and unmatched in its linguistic detail. In a career full of standout verses, this one carved out a lane all its own.