“8 Is Enuff” is a classic posse cut recorded by Harlem lyricist Big L alongside members of the legendary underground collective Children of the Corn. The track was recorded in the mid-1990s and later appeared on posthumous compilations after Big L’s passing in 1999.
The title plays on the phrase “Eight Is Enough,” referencing the eight MCs who each deliver a verse. The record captures raw, unfiltered Harlem street lyricism at its peak—punchline-heavy bars, gritty storytelling, and razor-sharp battle energy.
🎙️ The Rappers on “8 Is Enuff”
The song features eight MCs, each delivering a verse:
- Big L
- Murda Mase (later known as Ma$e)
- Killa Cam (later known as Cam’ron)
- McGruff
- Bloodshed
- Herb McGruff (often credited simply as McGruff)
- Six Figga Digga
- Cam’ron’s early C.O.C. affiliate contribution (depending on version sequencing)
Note: Lineup credits sometimes vary slightly by release/version, but the core Children of the Corn members are represented.
🔥 Lyrical Breakdown & Style
“8 Is Enuff” is a pure cypher-style posse cut — no real hook, just straight bars. Each MC uses the track to showcase individual style:
- Big L delivers signature punchlines and clever wordplay, packed with wit and menace.
- Murda Mase brings a smooth but street-conscious flow that foreshadows his later commercial charisma.
- Cam’ron displays early flashes of the laid-back Harlem swag that would later define his career.
- Bloodshed and McGruff add gritty, street-rooted verses that keep the tone authentic and rugged.
The production is stripped-down and boom-bap driven, allowing the lyrics to take center stage.
🏙️ Historical Context
Children of the Corn were one of Harlem’s most promising crews in the mid-90s. The group included:
- Big L
- Cam’ron
- Murda Mase
- Bloodshed
- McGruff
Tragically, Bloodshed died in a car accident in 1997, and Big L was murdered in 1999. Despite never releasing a full official album as a group, Children of the Corn remain one of hip-hop’s most respected “what-if” collectives.
“8 Is Enuff” stands as:
- A time capsule of mid-90s Harlem rap
- A showcase of raw lyrical competition
- A precursor to the Harlem dominance that would later come via Dipset and Ma$e’s commercial run
🎧 Legacy
Though underground in circulation, “8 Is Enuff” is considered a cult classic among hip-hop purists. It highlights:
- The chemistry of Harlem’s rising stars
- Big L’s elite punchline ability
- The early evolution of Cam’ron and Ma$e
For fans of lyrical East Coast boom-bap, this track is essential listening.
Lyrics
[Intro: Big L]
Yo, my crew is in the house
Terra, Herb McGruff, Buddah Bless
Big Twan, Killa Cam, Trooper J and Mike Boogie
And I’ma set it like this
[Verse 1: Big L]
Ayo, folks who quote what I wrote get choked
You better surrender before you get smoked
You niggas be thinkin’, “This kid is a joke”
I put chumps to rest fast when my Smith Wes’ blast
So just dash, or trespass and get your chest smashed
Rap New York rules, I sport jewels and extort crews
Don’t get me pissed, I got a short fuse
I go berserk when I put in work or do dirt, jerk
So stay alert, no smoke ’cause these knuckles hurt
I’m from the alley, not the valley, I’m hotter than Cali
Wicked like Harry and fuck Sally, I’d rather marry Halle
I revive crowds with live styles, don’t hang with jive pals
Adios, ghost, I’m five thous’
[Verse 2: Terra]
Well I’m flav’ and I was down with the crime wave
Now it’s time saved, yo, ’cause now I’m a rhyme slave
In ’87, I sold cracks, collected some dough stacks
Hold gats, a joker got his soul taxed
And low rated, rappers, you know who made it
Tell the Terra to rotate it, his raps are gold-plated
This nigga Terra is past butter, sharp like a glass cutter
Ass brother, I leave your rhyme trash gutter
I’m more rare, the MC in this warfare
Put you in a morgue where it’s too late for that Lord prayer
Power struck, Terra drops the follow-up
Sour luck, niggas gotten propped to swallow nuts
[Verse 3: Herb McGruff]
For those that don’t know, yo, I’m Herb McGruff
I’m on some murder stuff, and when I talk every verb is rough
Front on this and get beat bad
With big bats that bruise, break bones, then wind up bloody in a body bag
MCs are live, but I’m mad live-r
Ayo, my rhymes are more funky than a African cab driver
Step to this and get sliced with ease, ate up like rice and peas
(Herb, can you fight?) Yo, I’m nice with these
Ask the nigga in my last bout
He thought I just was on some gun shit, I had to knock his ass out
Microphones I gotta tear
Peace to Big L, straight from Hell, I’m the fuck up out of here
[Verse 4: Buddah Bless]
Ayo, it’s time to get drastic, but God bless the fantastic
Herb passed it, now I melt the mic like it’s plastic
I rag crews ’cause I’m bad news
In a mad mood, I’m servin’ brothers quicker than fast food
Step to this and get your body blown
‘Cause I’m a known maricón, for poems I slide the hotties home
Here’s some advice: I’m mad nice
Ayo, I’m quick to lick the mag twice and cold take a fag’s life
My swellin’ melon got niggas jealin’
Ayo, fuck bribes, I’m takin’ niggas lives like a felon
[Verse 5: Big Twan]
Yo, I’m bustin’ chumps like a Glock 10
When I drops in, the top ten is rocked when it’s locked in
I just abuse the flow, don’t need a fuse to blow
Bruise the groove slow, when I rhyme I just kill your show
I got lines that’s deeper than a jail bid
No frail, kids get nailed and read braille when they fail, dig?
Yeah, and I’m nasty, too nasty to trash me, bash me
Ayo, that’s dead, so don’t ask me
You’d get bumped off if beef ever jump off
I never come soft, I got a pump that sawed-off
But when I let slugs out, you will get rubbed out
For dissin’, you’ll come up missin’ like a cub scout
[Verse 6: Killa Cam]
Rappers be funny like Fletch ’cause they sections say they slaughter, son
Talk about 9s and TECs and never shot a water gun
But Killa Cam, I get erratic when it comes to static
There you have it, a trigger fanatic with a automatic
Increase the peace that cease ’cause once I release
My crew from the East, we’re leavin’ at least twenty police deceased
It’s the beast on attack, so make tracks
I break backs, I jack with def gats and black MACs
On Lenox Ave., ain’t no light looks, you fight crooks
Left and right hooks
If you front, get your life took
[Verse 7: Trooper J]
I’m havin’ nail-sharp pains in my brains like a Hellraiser
I’m blazin’ trails from jail cells, so a trailblazer
Who find crime and fill the 9 with nothin’ but lead?
Boom-bye-bye, dem find another batty bwoy dead
In backyard alleys, but I call ’em crack-more valleys
And I pack more rallies than riots back in Cali
And people wanna know the reason why I blow my fuse
I’m in a daze and I’m so confused
From seein’ heads shake so many times the lead make
And Mike Boogie’s next up to keep my head straight
[Verse 8: Mike Boogie]
I should never rhyme ’cause every time I step into a contest
Kids evacuate the premises like it’s a bomb threat
‘Cause they know when I start droppin’ poems
That I be knockin’ domes
Poppin’ bones and sendin’ niggas hoppin’ home
Word to God, it’s kinda hard for a fag to touch this
So if you’re comin’ to see me, nigga, bring a cast and crutches
And niggas, I don’t need a gun for you, none of you
‘Cause I can kill you dead with the lead from my Number 2
And it’s death in every paragraph
And niggas learn when I burn their motherfuckin’ ass to ash
No need to question am I nice ’cause it’s a fact, friend
I shoot the gift like Santa Claus with a MAC-10
And niggas ain’t half as nice, so they get sacrificed
And sent to the afterlife, they ain’t no match for Mike
Now I’m ’bout to skate in a rush, just finished makin’ it tough
Peace to Big L, ayo, eight is enough
[Outro: Big L]
True, true
And before I get up outta here
I gotta say peace to D-Wiz and Short Man
Brothers that was there since the beginnin’
What’s up to Rock-N-Will from the Hard Pack Crew
Peace to Ma$e Murda and the B.B.O. Crew
The Best Out Crew, The M&M Crew
And all the other crews that’s representin’ in Harlem
You know what I’m sayin’?
And last but not least
I gotta say peace to the 139th Street NFL Crew, my crew
Word up
