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The Notorious BIG - Greatest Hits Album Lyrics



The Notorious BIG - Greatest Hits Lyrics






Juicy

(F*ck all you hoes! Get a grip, motherf*cker!)

Yeah, this album is dedicated
To all the teachers that told me I'd never amount to nothin'
To all the people that lived above the buildings that I was hustlin' in front of
Called the police on me when I was just tryin' to make some money to feed my daughter (it's all good)
And all the niggas in the struggle
You know what I'm sayin'? It's all good, baby baby

It was all a dream, I used to read Word Up! magazine
Salt-n-Pepa and Heavy D up in the limousine
Hangin' pictures on my wall
Every Saturday Rap Attack, Mr. Magic, Marley Marl
I let my tape rock 'til my tape popped
Smokin' weed in Bambu, sippin' on Private Stock
Way back, when I had the red and black lumberjack
With the hat to match
Remember Rappin' Duke? Duh-ha, duh-ha
You never thought that hip-hop would take it this far
Now I'm in the limelight 'cause I rhyme tight
Time to get paid, blow up like the World Trade
Born sinner, the opposite of a winner
Remember when I used to eat sardines for dinner
Peace to Ron G, Brucie B, Kid Capri
Funkmaster Flex, Lovebug Starski
I'm blowin' up like you thought I would
Call the crib, same number, same hood
It's all good (it's all good)
And if you don't know, now you know, nigga

You know very well
Who you are
Don't let 'em hold you down
Reach for the stars
You had a goal
But not that many
'Cause you're the only one
I'll give you good and plenty

I made the change from a common thief
To up close and personal with Robin Leach
And I'm far from cheap
I smoke skunk with my peeps all day
Spread love, it's the Brooklyn way
The Moët and Alizé keep me pissy
Girls used to diss me
Now they write letters 'cause they miss me
I never thought it could happen, this rappin' stuff
I was too used to packin' gats and stuff
Now honeys play me close like butter play toast
From the Mississippi down to the East Coast
Condos in Queens, indo for weeks
Sold-out seats to hear Biggie Smalls speak
Livin' life without fear
Puttin' five karats in my baby girl's ear
Lunches, brunches, interviews by the pool
Considered a fool 'cause I dropped out of high school
Stereotypes of a black male misunderstood
And it's still all good
And if you don't know, now you know, nigga

You know very well
Who you are
Don't let 'em hold you down
Reach for the stars
You had a goal
But not that many
'Cause you're the only one
I'll give you good and plenty

Super Nintendo, Sega Genesis
When I was dead broke, man, I couldn't picture this
50-inch screen, money-green leather sofa
Got two rides, a limousine with a chauffeur
Phone bill about two G's flat
No need to worry, my accountant handles that
And my whole crew is loungin'
Celebratin' every day, no more public housin'
Thinkin' back on my one-room shack
Now my mom pimps a Ac' with minks on her back
And she loves to show me off of course
Smiles every time my face is up in The Source
We used to fuss when the landlord dissed us
No heat, wonder why Christmas missed us
Birthdays was the worst days
Now we sip Champagne when we thirsty
Uh, damn right, I like the life I live
'Cause I went from negative to positive
And it's all (It's all good, nigga)
And if you don't know, now you know, nigga

You know very well
Who you are
Don't let 'em hold you down
And if you don't know, now you know, nigga
Reach for the stars
You had a goal
But not that many
'Cause you're the only one
And if you don't know, now you know, nigga
I'll give you good and plenty

Representin' B-Town in the house
Junior Mafia, mad flavor
Uh, uh, yeah, aight

You know very well
Who you are
Don't let 'em hold you down
Reach for the stars
You had a goal
But not that many
'Cause you're the only one
I'll give you good and plenty

Biggie Smalls, it's all good, nigga
Junior Mafia, it's all good, nigga
Bad Boy, it's all good, nigga
It's all good
That's right, '94
And on and on, and on and on
You know very well
Who you are
Don't let 'em hold you down
Reach for the stars
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Christopher Wallace, Sean Combs, James Mtume, Jean Claude Olivier
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Downtown Music Publishing, MTUME MUSIC PUBLISHING, Reservoir Media Management, Inc., Cloud9






Big Poppa

Uh, uh, check it out (yeah), uh
Junior M.A.F.I.A., uh (hehe, mm)
Uh (I like this) yeah, yeah
Nine-fo' (keep bangin')

To all the ladies in the place with style and grace
Allow me to lace these lyrical douches, in your bushes (uh)
Who rock grooves and make moves with all the mommies
The back of the club, sippin' Moet, is where you'll find me (what?)
The back of the club, mackin' hoes, my crew's behind me (uh)
Mad question askin', blunt passin', music blastin'
But I just can't quit
Because one of these honies Biggie gots ta creep with
Sleep with, keep the ep a secret, why not
Why blow up my spot 'cause we both got hot?
Now check it, I got more Mack than Craig and in the bed
Believe me sweetie I got enough to feed the needy
No need to be greedy I got mad friends with Benz's
C-notes by the layers, true f*ckin' players (uh)
Jump in the Rover and come over
Tell your friends jump in the GS3
I got the chronic by the tree, 'cause

I love it when you call me Big Poppa
Throw your hands in the air, if you's a true player
I love it when you call me Big Poppa
To the honeys gettin' money playin' niggas like dummies
I love it when you call me Big Poppa
Ya got a gun up in your waist, please don't shoot up the place (why?)
'Cause I see some ladies tonight
That should be havin' my baby (uh), baby (uh)

Straight up honey really I'm askin'
Most of these niggas think they be mackin', but they be actin'
Who they attractin' with that line, "What's your name, what's your sign?"
Soon as he buy that wine I just creep up from behind
And ask what your interests are, who you be with
Things to make you smile, what numbers to dial
You gon' be here for a while, I'm gon' go call my crew
You go call your crew
We can rendezvous at the bar around two
Plans to leave, throw the keys to 'Lil Cease
Pull the truck up, front, and roll up the next blunt
So we can steam on the way to the telly go fill my belly
A t-bone steak, cheese eggs and Welch's grape
Conversate for a few, 'cause in a few, we gon' do
What we came to do, ain't that right boo (true)
Forget the telly we just go to the crib
And watch a movie in the jacuzzi smoke L's while you do me

I love it when you call me Big Poppa
Throw your hands in the air, if you's a true player
I love it when you call me Big Poppa
To the honeys gettin' money playin' niggas like dummies
I love it when you call me Big Poppa
Ya got a gun up in your waist, please don't shoot up the place (why?)
'Cause I see some ladies tonight
That should be havin' my baby (uh), baby (uh)

(How ya livin' Biggie Smalls?)
In mansion and Benz's givin' ends to my friends and it feels stupendous
Tremendous cream, f*ck a dollar and a dream
Still tote gats strapped with infrared beams (what?)
Choppin O's, smokin' la in Optimos
Money hoes and clothes all a nigga knows (all a nigga knows)
A foolish pleasure, whatever
I had to find the buried treasure (for what?), so grams I had to measure
However livin' better now, Gucci sweater now
Drop top BM's, I'm the man girlfriend

Honey check it (check it)
Tell your friends, to get with my friends (your friends)
And we can be friends
Shit we can do this every weekend (that's right)
Aight? Is that aight with you?
Yeah, keep bangin'

I love it when you call me Big Poppa
Throw your hands in the air, if you's a true player
I love it when you call me Big Poppa
To the honeys gettin' money playin' niggas like dummies
I love it when you call me Big Poppa
Ya got a gun up in your waist, please don't shoot up the place (why?)
'Cause I see some ladies tonight
That should be havin' my baby (uh), baby (uh)

Check it out, nine-fo' shit for dat ass, uh
Puff Daddy, Biggie Smalls, Junior M.A.F.I.A, represent baby, baby, uh
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: O'Kelly Isley, Christopher Jasper, Ernie Isley, Rudolph Isley, Ronald Isley, Christopher Wallace, Marvin Isley
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC






Hypnotize

Uh (uh), uh (uh), uh (c'mon)

Ha, sicker than your average
Poppa twist cabbage off instinct
Niggas don't think shit stink
Pink gators, my Detroit players
Timbs for my hooligans in Brooklyn (that's right)
Dead right, if the head right, Biggie there e'ry night
Poppa been smooth since days of Underoos
Never lose, never choose to, bruise crews who
Do somethin' to us (come on), talk go through us (through us)
Girls walk to us, wanna do us, screw us
Who us? Yeah, Poppa and Puff (hehe)
Close like Starsky and Hutch, stick the clutch
Dare I squeeze three at your cherry M-3 (take that, take that)
Bang every MC easily, busily (take that, haha)
Recently, niggas frontin' ain't sayin' nothin' (nothin')
So I just speak my piece, keep my piece (come on, now)
Cubans with the Jesus piece, with my peeps (thank you, God)
Packin', askin', "Who want it?" (who want it?)
You got it, nigga, flaunt it
That Brooklyn bullshit, we on it

Biggie, Biggie, Biggie, can't you see?
Sometimes your words just hypnotize me
And I just love your flashy ways
Guess that's why they broke, and you're so paid (uh)
Biggie, Biggie, Biggie (uh-huh), can't you see? (Uh)
Sometimes your words just hypnotize me (hypnotize)
And I just love your flashy ways (uh-huh)
Guess that's why they broke, and you're so paid (ha)

I put hoes in NY onto DKNY (uh-huh)
Miami, D.C. prefer Versace (that's right)
All Philly hoes know it's Moschino (c'mon)
Every cutie wit a booty bought a Coogi (ha)
Now who's the real dookie? Meanin', who's really the shit?
Them niggas ride dicks, Frank White push the six
Or the Lexus, LX, four and a half
Bulletproof glass, tints if I want some ass
Gon' blast, squeeze first, ask questions last (haha)
That's how most of these so-called gangsters pass (bye-bye)
At last, a nigga rappin' bout blunts and broads
Tits and bras, ménage à trois, sex in expensive cars
I still leave you on the pavement
Condo paid for (uh-huh), no car payment (uh-uh)
At my arraignment, note for the plaintiff
Your daughter's tied up in a Brooklyn basement
Face it, not guilty (shh)
That's how I stay filthy (not guilty)
Richer than Richie, 'til you niggas come and get me (come on)

Biggie, Biggie, Biggie, can't you see?
Sometimes your words just hypnotize me
And I just love your flashy ways
Guess that's why they broke, and you're so paid (uh)
Biggie, Biggie, Biggie (uh-huh), can't you see? (Uh)
Sometimes your words just hypnotize me (hypnotize)
And I just love your flashy ways (uh-huh)
Guess that's why they broke, and you're so paid (uh)

I can fill ya wit' real millionaire shit (I can fill ya)
Escargot, my car go one-sixty, swiftly (come on)
Wreck it, buy a new one
Your crew run-run-run, your crew run-run
I know you sick of this, name brand nigga wit'
Flows, girls say he's sweet like licorice (uh-huh)
So get with this nigga, it's easy (uh-huh)
Girlfriend, here's a pen, call me 'round ten (ten)
Come through, have sex on rugs that's Persian (that's right)
Come up to your job, hit you while you workin' (uh)
For certain Poppa freakin', not speakin'
Leave that ass leakin', like rapper demos (ha)
Tell them hoes, take they clothes off slowly (slowly)
Hit 'em wit' the force like Obi (Obi)
Dick black like Toby (Toby)
Watch me roam like Romey (Romey)
Lucky they don't owe me
Where the safe? Show me (say what?)
Homie (homie)

Biggie, Biggie, Biggie, can't you see?
Sometimes your words just hypnotize me
And I just love your flashy ways
Guess that's why they broke, and you're so paid (uh)
Biggie, Biggie, Biggie (uh-huh), can't you see? (Uh)
Sometimes your words just hypnotize me (hypnotize)
And I just love your flashy ways (uh-huh)
Guess that's why they broke, and you're so paid (uh)

Biggie, Biggie, Biggie, can't you see?
Sometimes your words just hypnotize me
And I just love your flashy ways
Guess that's why they broke, and you're so paid (uh)
Biggie, Biggie, Biggie (uh-huh), can't you see? (Uh)
Sometimes your words just hypnotize me (hypnotize)
And I just love your flashy ways (uh-huh)
Guess that's why they broke, and you're so paid (uh)

Biggie, Biggie, Biggie, can't you see?
Sometimes your words just hypnotize me
And I just love your flashy ways
Guess that's why they broke, and you're so paid
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Deric Micheal Angelettie, Sean Combs, Christopher Wallace, Andy Armer, Ron Badazz, Ronald Anthony Lawrence
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC






One More Chance

Uh
Uh, what?
As we proceed, to give you what you need
Nine-five, motherf*ckers
Get live, motherf*ckers
Biggie, gimme one more chance
Biggie, Biggie, gimme one more chance (check it out, uh)
Biggie, gimme one more chance (lyrically I'm)
Biggie, Biggie, gimme one more chance (uh, uh)
Biggie (what?), gimme one more chance
Biggie, Biggie, gimme one more chance (uh, Junior M.A.F.I.A.)
Biggie (uh, Junior M.A.F.I.A.), gimme one more chance (uh)
Biggie, Biggie, gimme one more chance

First things first, I Poppa, freaks all the honeys
Dummies, Playboy bunnies, those wanting money
Those the ones I like 'cause they don't get nathan
But penetration unless it smells like sanitation
Garbage, I turn like doorknobs
Heartthrob never, Black and ugly as ever
However, I stay Coogi down to the socks
Rings and watch filled with rocks
And my jam knock in your Mitsubishi
Girls pee-pee when they see me
Navajos creep me in they teepee
As I lay down laws like I lay carpet
Stop it if you think they gonna make a profit
Don't see my ones, don't see my guns, get it?
Now tell your friends Poppa hit it, then split it
In two as I flow with the Junior M.A.F.I.A.
I don't know what the hell is stopping ya
I'm clocking ya, Versace shades watching ya
Once ya grin, I'm in, game begins
First I talk about how I dress in this
In diamond necklaces, stretch Lexuses
The sex is just immaculate from the back
I get deeper and deeper, help you reach the
Climax that your man can't make
Call him, tell him you'll be home real late
And sing the break, uh

Biggie, give me (I got that good love girl, you didn't know?)
One more
Give me one more
Chance and make me
Gimme one more chance
Biggie, Biggie, gimme one more chance (I got that good love girl, you didn't know?)
Biggie, gimme one more chance
Biggie, Biggie, gimme one more chance

She's sick of that song on how it's so long
Thought he worked his until I handled my biz
There I is, major pain like Damon Wayans
Low down, dirty even, like his brother Keenan
Schemin', don't leave your girl 'round me
True player for real, ask Puff Daddy
You ringing bells with bags from Chanel
Baby Benz, traded in your Hyundai Excel
Fully equipped, CD changer with the cell
She beeped me, meet me at twelve
Where you at? Flipping jobs, paying car notes?
While I'm swimming in your women like the breast stroke
Right stroke, left stroke was the best stroke
Death stroke, tongue all down her throat
Nothing left to do but send her home to you
I'm through, can you sing the song for me boo?

Biggie, give me (I got that good love girl, you didn't know?)
One more
Give me one more (I got that good love girl, you didn't know?)
Chance and make me
Gimme one more chance
Biggie, Biggie, gimme one more chance (I got that good love girl, you didn't know?)
Biggie, gimme one more chance
Biggie, Biggie, gimme one more chance

So what's it gonna be? Him or me? (Uh)
We can cruise the world with pearls, gator boots for girls
The envy of all women, crushed linen
Cartier wrist-wear with diamonds in 'em
The finest women I love with a passion
Ya man's a wimp, I give that ass a good thrashin'
High fashion, flying into all states
Sexing me while your man masturbates
Isn't this great? Your flight leaves at eight
Her flight lands at nine, my game just rewinds
Lyrically I'm supposed to represent
I'm not only a client, I'm the player President

Biggie, give me (I got that good love girl, you didn't know?)
One more
Give me one more
Chance and make me
Gimme one more chance
Biggie, Biggie, gimme one more chance (I got that good love girl, you didn't know?)
Biggie, gimme one more chance
Biggie, Biggie, gimme one more chance

Biggie, gimme one more chance
Biggie, Biggie, gimme one more chance (I got that good love girl, you didn't know?)
Biggie, gimme one more chance
Biggie, Biggie, gimme one more chance
Biggie, gimme one more chance
Biggie, Biggie, gimme one more chance (I got that good love girl, you didn't know?)
Biggie, gimme one more chance
Biggie, Biggie, gimme one more chance
Biggie, gimme one more chance
Biggie, Biggie, gimme one more chance (I got that good love girl, you didn't know?)
Biggie, gimme one more chance
Biggie, Biggie, gimme one more chance
Biggie, gimme one more chance
Biggie, Biggie, gimme one more chance
Biggie, gimme one more chance
Biggie, Biggie, gimme one more chance
Biggie, gimme one more chance
Biggie, Biggie, gimme one more chance
Biggie, gimme one more chance
Biggie, Biggie, gimme one more chance
Biggie, gimme one more chance
Biggie, Biggie, gimme one more chance
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Carl Thompson, Christopher Wallace, Sean Combs, Blues Brothers
Copyright: Lyrics © BMG Rights Management, Royalty Network, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Downtown Music Publishing, Songtrust Ave, Warner Chappell Music, Inc.






Get Money

F*ck bitches, get money.. f*ck niggaz, get money (3X)

[Kim]
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: ROY AYERS, JAMES BEDFORD, KIMBERLY JONES, SYLVIA DENISE STRIPLIN, CHRISTOPHER WALLACE
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, BMG Rights Management, JAMES BEDFORD D/B/A SKILLET MUSIC






Warning

Who the f*ck is this? Pagin' me at 5:46
In the mornin', crack of dawn and
Now I'm yawnin', wipe the cold out my eye
See who's this pagin' me and why?
It's my nigga, Pop, from the barbershop
Told me he was in the gambling spot and heard the intricate plot
Of niggas wanna stick me like flypaper, neighbor
Slow down love, please chill, drop the caper

Remember them niggas from the hill up in Brownsville
That you rolled dice with, smoked blunts and got nice with?

Yeah, my nigga Fame up in Prospect
Nah them my niggas nah love wouldn't disrespect

I didn't say them, they schooled me to some niggas
That you knew from back when, when you was clockin' minor figures
Now they heard you're blowin' up like nitro
And they wanna stick the knife through your windpipe slow
So, thank Fame for warnin' me 'cause now I'm warnin' you
I got the MAC, nigga tell me what you gonna do

Damn, niggas wanna stick me for my paper
Damn, niggas wanna stick me for my paper
Damn, niggas wanna stick me for my paper
Damn, niggas wanna stick me for my paper

They heard about the Rolex's and the Lexus
With the Texas license plates out of state
They heard about the pounds you got down in Georgetown
And they heard you got half of Virginia locked down
They even heard about the crib you bought your moms out in Florida
The Fifth Corridor

Call the coroner
There's gonna be a lot of slow sin'in' and flower brin'in'
If my burglar alarm starts rin'in'
What ya think all the guns is for?
All-purpose war, got the Rottweilers by the door
And I feed 'em gunpowder, so they can devour
The criminals tryin' to drop my decimals
Damn, niggas wanna stick me for my cream
And it ain't a dream, thin's ain't always what it seem
It's the ones that smoke blunts with ya, see your picture
Now they wanna grab they guns and come and get ya
Bet ya Biggie won't slip
I got the Calico with the Black Talons loaded in the clip
So I can rip through the ligaments
Put the f*ckers in a bad predicament, where all the foul niggas went
Touch my cheddar, feel my Beretta
Buck, what I'ma hit you with you motherf*ckers better duck
I bring pain, bloodstains on what remains
Of his jacket, he had a gun he shoulda packed it
Cocked it, extra clips in my pocket
So I can reload and explode on you rasshole
I f*ck around and get hardcore
C-4 to your door, no beef no more nigga
Feel the rough, scandalous
The more weed smoke I puff, the more dangerous
I don't give a f*ck about you or your weak crew
What you gonna do when Big Poppa comes for you?
I'm not runnin', nigga I bust my gun and
Hold on, I hear somebody comin'

(C'mon motherf*cker) I'm only comin' to pass the gat
(Just bring your motherf*ckin' ass on, come on)
Are we gettin' close, huh?
(It's right over here)
Are you sure this Biggie Smalls crib man?
(Yeah I'm sure motherf*cker, c'mon)
Ahh f*ck, it better be his motherf*ckin' house
F*ck right here
This better be this motherf*cker's house
(Oh shit) what, what's wrong?
(What's that red dot on your head man)
What red dot?
Oh shit
You got a red dot on your head too

Ohh shit
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Burt F. Bacharach, Hal David, Osten S. Harvey, Christopher Wallace
Copyright: Lyrics © BMG Rights Management, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC






Dead Wrong

[Puff:] bad boy baby
[Big:] yeah.. yeah.
Junior m.a.f.i.a., yeah.
[Puff:] yeah
[Big:] f*ckin F*ck yo guys up
[Puff:] yeah.. b.i.g. 2000
B.i.g. 2000 born again.. c'mon.

[chorus: Puff Daddy]
The weak or the strong, who got it goin on
You're dead wrong
The weak or the strong, who got it goin on
You're dead wrong

[verse 1: Notorious b.i.g.]
Relax and take notes, while I take tokes of the marijuana smoke
Throw you in a choke - gun smoke, gun smoke
Biggie smalls for mayor, the rap slayer
The hooker layer - motherf*cker say your prayers
Hail mary full of grace.. smack the bitch in the face;
Take her gucci bag and the north face
Off her back, jab her if she act
Funny with the money oh you got me mistaken honey
I don't wanna rape ya, I just want the paper
The visa, kapeesha? I'm out like, "the vapors"
Who's the one you call mr. macho, the head honcho
Swift fist like camacho, I got so
Much style I should be down wit the stylistics
Make up to break up {singing in background} niggaz need to wake up
Smell the indonesia; beat you to a seizure
Then f*ck your moms, hit the skins til amnesia
She don't remember shit! just the two hits!
Her hittin the floor, and me hittin the clits!
Suckin on the tits! had the hooker beggin for the dick
And your moms ain't ugly love; my dick got rock quick
I guess I was a combination of house of pain and bobby brown
I was "humpin around" and "jump-in around"
Jacked her then I asked her who's the man; she said, "b-i-g"
Then I bust in her e-y-e

[Chorus: Puff Daddy]
The weak or the strong, who got it goin on
You're dead wrong
The weak or the strong, who got it goin on
You're dead wrong
The weak or the strong, who got it goin on
You're dead wrong
The weak or the strong, who got it goin on
You're dead wrong

[verse 2: Notorious b.i.g.]
When I get dusted, I like to spread the blood like mustard
Trust it, my hardcore rain leaves you rusted
Move over lucifer, I'm more ruthless, huh
Leave your toothless, you'll kibbitz, I'll flip it
Tears don't affect me, I hit 'em with the tech g
Disrespect me - my potency is deadly
I'm shootin babies, no ifs ands or maybes
Hit mummy in the tummy if the hooker plays a dummy
Slit the wrist of little sis
After she sucked the dick, I stabbed her brother with the icepick
Because he wanted me to f*ck him from the back
But smalls don't get down like that
Got your father hidin in a room; f*cked him with the broom
Slit him down the back and threw salt in the wound
Who you think you're dealin with?
Anybody step into my path is f*ckin feelin it!
Hardcore, I got it sucked like a pussy
Stab ya til you're gushy, so please don't push.. me
I'm using rubbers so they won't trace the semen
The black demon, got the little hookers screamin
Because you know I love it young, fresh and green
With no hair in between, know what I mean?

[chorus: Puff Daddy]
The weak or the strong, who got it goin on
You're dead wrong
The weak or the strong, who got it goin on
You're dead wrong
The weak or the strong, who got it goin on
You're dead wrong
The weak or the strong, who got it goin on
You're dead wrong

[Puff Daddy:] ladies and gentlemen.

[Verse 3: eminem]
There's several different levels to devil worshippin: horse's heads
Human sacrifices, canibalism; candles and exorcism
Animals havin sex with 'em; camels mammals and rabbits
But I don't get into that, I kick the habit - I just
Beat you to death with weapons that eat through the flesh
And I never eat you unless the f*ckin, meat looks fresh
I got a lion in my pocket, I'm lyin, I got a nine in my pocket
And baby I'm just, dyin to cock him
He's ready for war, I'm ready for war
I got machetes and swords for any faggot that said he was raw
My uz' as, heavy as yours, yeah you met me before
I just didn't have as large an arsenal of weapons before
Marshall will step in the door, I lay your head on the floor
With your body spread on the bedspread, red on the wall
Red on the ceilin, red on the floor, get a new whore
Met on the second, wet on the third;
Then she's dead on the fourth - I'm dead wrong

[Chorus: Puff Daddy]
The weak or the strong, who got it goin on
You're dead wrong
The weak or the strong, who got it goin on
You're dead wrong
The weak or the strong, who got it goin on
You're dead wrong
The weak or the strong, who got it goin on
You're dead wrong

[Puff daddy:]
Uh-huh, and we won't stop, because we can't stop
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Carl Thompson, Christopher Wallace, Osten Harvey, Al Green, Marshall Mathers
Copyright: Lyrics © EMI Music Publishing, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Universal Music Publishing Group






Who Shot Ya

[Intro: Puff Daddy]

As we proceed
to give you what you need
9 to 5 motherf*ckers
get live motherf*ckers [x2]

As we proceed
to give you what you need
East coast motherf*ckers
Bad Boy motherf*ckers

[BIG]
Now turn the mics up
Turn that mic up, yea that beat is knockin
to that microphone
Turn that shit the f*ck up
Uh, what?
Turn it up louder
Yea, uh

As we proceed, to give you
what you need
J.M. motherf*ckers
J.M. motherf*ckers
9 to 5 motherf*ckers

[Verse One:]

Who shot ya?
Seperate the weak from the ob-solete
Hard to creep them Brooklyn streets
It's on nigga, f*ck all that bickering beef
I can hear sweat trickling down your cheek
Your heartbeat soun like Sasquatch feet
Thundering, shaking the concrete
Finish it, stop, when I foil the plot
Neighbors call the cops said they heard mad shots
Saw me in the drop, three in the corner

Slaughter, electrical tape around your daughter
Old school new school need to learn though
I burn baby burn like Disco Inferno
Burn slow like blunts with ya-yo
Peel more skins than Idaho potato
Niggaz know, the lyrics molestin is takin place
F*ckin with B.I.G. it ain't safe
I make your skin chafe, rashes on the masses
Bumps and bruises, blunts and Landcruisers
Big Poppa smash fools, bash fools
Niggaz mad because I know that Cash Rules
Everything Around Me, two glock nines
Any motherf*cker whispering about mines
And I'm, Crooklyn's finest
You rewind this, Bad Boy's behind this

[Interlude:]

As we proceed
to give you what you need
9 to 5 motherf*ckers
get live motherf*ckers

As we proceed
to give you what you need
East coast motherf*ckers
Bad Boy motherf*ckers

Get high motherf*ckers
Get high motherf*ckers
Smoke blunts motherf*ckers
Get high motherf*ckers
Ready to die motherf*ckers
9 to 5 motherf*ckers

[Verse Two:]

I seen the light excite all the freaks
Stack mad chips, spread love with my peeps
Niggaz wanna creep, got ta watch my back
Think the Cognac and indo sack make me slack?
I switches all that, cock-sucker G's up
One false move, get swiss cheesed up
Clip to Tec, respect I demand it
Slip and break the, 11th Commandment
Thou shalt not f*ck with raw C-Poppa
Feel a thosand deaths when I drop ya
I feel for you, like Chaka Khan I'm the don
Pussy when I want Rolex on the arm
You'll die slow but calm
Recognize my face, so there won't be no mistake
So you know where to tell Jake, lame nigga
Brave nigga, turned front page nigga
Puff Daddy flips daily
I smoke the blunts he sips on the Bailey's
on the rocks, tote glocks at christenings
And my cock, in the fire position and...

(Get live motherf*ckers
Ready to Die motherf*ckers)

C'mere, c'mere [it ain't gotta be like that Big]
open your f*cking mouth, open your... didn't I tell you
don't f*ck with me? [*muffled* c'mon man] Huh?
Didn't I tell you not to f*ck with me?
(as we proceed) [c'mon man] Look at you now
(to give you what you need) Huh? [c'mon man]
(9 to 5 motherf*ckers) Can't talk with a gun in your mouth huh?
(get live motherf*ckers) Bitch-ass nigga, what?
(get live motherf*ckers) [muffled sounds, six gun shots]
(as we proceed...) Who shot ya?

[Outro: Puff Daddy]

...to give you what you need
9 to 5 motherf*ckers
Get live motherf*ckers

(Who shot ya?)

Get high motherf*ckers
Ready to Die motherf*ckers
Hah!!
As we proceed...

(Who shot ya?)

...to give you what you need
9 to 5 motherf*ckers
East coast motherf*ckers

(Who shot ya?)

West coast motherf*ckers...
West coast motherf*ckers... hah!
As we proceed, to give you what you need
As we proceed
to give you what you need
Get live motherf*ckers
9 to 5 motherf*ckers
Get money motherf*ckers

As we proceed
to give you what you need
Get live motherf*ckers
9 to 5 motherf*ckers
J.M. motherf*ckers
J.M. motherf*ckers
As we proceeeeeeed
To give you what you need...
9 to 5...
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: SEAN COMBS, HERB MAGIDSON, NASHIEM SA-ALLAH MYRICK, CHRISTOPHER WALLACE, ALLIE WRUBEL
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., MUSIC SALES CORPORATION






Ten Crack Commandments

[Chuck D] "One two three four five six seven eight nine"

Uhh, it's the ten crack commandments
What, uhh, uhh
Nigga can't tell me nothin bout this coke, uh-huh
Can't tell me nothin bout this crack, this weed
To my hustlin niggaz
Niggaz on the corner I ain't forget you niggaz
My triple beam niggaz, word up

[Chuck D] "One two three four five six seven eight nine"
"TEN"

I been in this game for years, it made me a animal
It's rules to this shit, I wrote me a manual
A step by step booklet for you to get
your game on track, not your wig pushed back
Rule nombre uno: never let no one know
how much, dough you hold, cause you know
The cheddar breed jealousy 'specially
if that man f*cked up, get your ass stuck up
Number two: never let em know your next move
Don't you know Bad Boys move in silence or violence
Take it from your highness (uh-huh)
I done squeezed mad clips at these cats for they bricks and chips
Number three: never trust no-bo-dy
Your moms'll set that ass up, properly gassed up
Hoodie to mask up, shit, for that fast buck
she be layin in the bushes to light that ass up
Number four: know you heard this before
Never get high, on your own supply
Number five: never sell no crack where you rest at
I don't care if they want a ounce, tell em bounce
Number six: that god damn credit, dead it
You think a crackhead payin you back, shit forget it
Seven: this rule is so underrated
Keep your family and business completely seperated
Money and blood don't mix like two dicks and no bitch
Find yourself in serious shit
Number eight: never keep no weight on you
Them cats that squeeze your guns can hold jobs too
Number nine shoulda been number one to me
If you ain't gettin bags stay the f*ck from police (uh-huh)
If niggaz think you snitchin ain't tryin listen
They be sittin in your kitchen, waitin to start hittin
Number ten: a strong word called consignment
Strictly for live men, not for freshmen
If you ain't got the clientele say hell no
Cause they gon want they money rain sleet hail snow
Follow these rules you'll have mad bread to break up
If not, twenty-four years, on the wake up
Slug hit your temple, watch your frame shake up
Caretaker did your makeup, when you pass
Your girl f*cked my man Jake up, heard in three weeks
she sniffed a whole half of cake up
Heard she suck a good dick, and can hook a steak up
Gotta go gotta go, more pasta bake up, word up, uhh

Crack king, Frank Blizzard
Uhh

[Chuck D] "One two three four five six seven eight nine"
"Ten"
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: CHRISTOPHER E MARTIN, KHARY TURNER, KHARY KIMANI TURNER
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.






Notorious Thugs

[ Featuring Bone Thugs-n-Harmony ]

[Chorus: Bone-Thugz-N-Harmony]
Hey Biggie, Biggie! (Keep on ridin'!)
It's Bone and Biggie, Biggie!
It's Bone and Biggie, Biggie!
It's Bone and Biggie, Biggie!
It's Bone and Biggie, Biggie!
It's Bone and Biggie, Biggie!
It's Bone and Biggie, Biggie!
Let's ride, let's ride, let's ride!
Get high, get high, get high! [x4]

[The Notorious B.I.G.:]
Armed and dangerous! - Ain't too many can bang with us
Straight up weed no angel dust! - Label us, Notorious!
Thug-ass niggas dat love to bust,
It's strange to us!
Y'all niggas be scramblin' - gamblin'
Up in restaurants with mandolins and violins.
We just sittin' here tryna win, try not to sin
High off weed and lots of gin.
So much smoke need oxygen
Steadily countin' them Benjamins.
Nigga you should too - if you knew, what this game'll do to you
Been in this shit since '92! - Look at all the bullshit I been thru!
Sure caught beef with you-know-who
F*ck a few female stars or two!
Then a bluelight niggas knew like Mike-shiiit
Not to be f*ck with'.
Muthaf*cka betta duck quick
Cause me and my dogs love to buck shit!
F*ck the luck shit strictly aim
Go operation just to kick da game!
Spit yo' game! Talk yo shit!
Grab yo Gat! Call your clicks!
Squeeze your clip and hit the right one!
Pass dat weed I gotta light one!
All them niggas I gotta fight one
All them hoes I gotta like one!
Our situation is a tight one!
What u wanna do? - Fight or run?
Seems to me dat you'll take B,
Bone and Big nigga die slowly
I'm a tell you like a nigga told me,
Cash rule everything around me.
Shiiit! - Lyrically - niggas can't see me! - F*ck it!
Buy the coke, cook the coke, cut it,
Blow the bitch before you caught yourself lovin' it
Nigga with a Benz f*ckin' it.
Doesn't it seem odd to you?
Big comes thru with' mobs and crews
Goodfellas down to da Mo' Thug dudes,
Who's da killa? - Me or you? (me or you?)

[Interlude: Bizzy Bone]
We forgive you... for you know not what you do! [echoes]

[Bizzy Bone:]
Seven A.M. woke in da mornin' with' Henn and caffiene and green and nicotine!
No dough so pop a couple of dough, Lil' Rippsta, nigga mista clean!
Nigga deep! - Deep in my tumble and now to get - sentimentally steamed
With' my - instrumelody! - And heated especially ball your team,
And a.45; indeed will beam now between da scenes destroy your dreams,
You willin' to die we'll see - how many faces when I cause the scene, we mean
Mug, Mo' Thugs tryna be perfect - disciples,
When it's survival told by the double edged sword triple,
Six rivals spittin' fire this da real truth - bitch! Breakin' down for lies
My Messiah steady get ready for Armageddon shoot 6-5!
It's wild; bless da child! - The one dat became a man
Put in positions out and we perve! - All that I had to do was stare!
Test - me now! - Contend never no surrender no pretend
Pick up my pen! - And my hemp! - All in my trust a friend, friend.
Hey! - Open and let's see if ya' real! - We all suited dig
'Bout 4 in da mornin', maybe we ain't marchin' we shootin';
And then they recruitin' theirs they forgot! - Everyday in da ghetto,
We start em' off endin with hit em' up out with a pen and pad hit me led now kick it!

[Krayzie Bone:]
Nigga roll with' Bone up into da dayz of ours
To the dome with a shot or burn, never do toss on da curb
Me feelin' da urge to sperve,
When I'm broke as f*cks and givin dat Mossburg, swerve.
Up into my bag, cause I gotta get my mask and shells
To put in this 12'' Guage sawed off, get em' all off, nigga yo' loss, take it all off,
Got a nigga caught doe! - For the Bone and Leatherface seemin' to thug in da cut
To let da mo' how many pullin ain't nothin' bitch if ya stick em' we buckin' em guns,
That's f*cked up! - Now lemme get down with da crime, gotta go purchase a dime
Put in a state to get down for da crime, smokin' tha reefa to ease my mind; swig some wine!
Step on da block when da rocks what will l be servin' them dummies see
Gotta buck em' on down if he come back talkin' like gimme back my money.
Thuggin' with' me killaz, need us a leader or lick up when niggas ain't got shit
With a sawed off pump chrome.38 pistol now who ready to get Bent'.
Nigga like me feenin' for them green leaves, but I ain't had no dough
Gotta make some money so, I'm makin' my dummy rocks if I go broke.

[Chorus x2]

[Layzie Bone:]
Lil' Lay' hey comin' in a form of scripture. - Finna get ya and hit magic
Droppin' down lick but l call on my gadgets - with a automatic status we spray time
To load da Glocks
But l'm thinkin not!
There's another he forced tellin me do what l gotta do,
So I up my pipe a nigga die tonight - and I'm alwayz waitin for da boys in blue.
Biggie boots on my ass now go'n right the cellular phone and call Bone what's happenin'
Grab a ten of real niggas start packin', cause a muthaf*cka try to get me in a jackin'
And I did 'em! - Hit 'em right between the eyes da spot was wise
Wanna test a nigga's size
And it cost 'em nigga f*ck around with da wrong shit y'all
Get mo' murdered all day, all day.
We done paved da way and l'm on da run
I'm a call my boys and bring all da guns
Y'all niggas wanna have a lil' fun' with number one,
One, in a red, red rum, rum, rum, rum, rum, rum,
With' a red, red rum, rum, rum, rum, rum, rum!
With' a red, red rum!

[Chorus: 'til beat fades out]
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Anthony Henderson, Bryon Mccane, Christopher Wallace, Sean Puffy Combs, Steven Howse, Steven Jordan
Copyright: Lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.






Notorious B.I.G.

[Notorious B.I.G.]
Yo, check it
Call Lil' Cease
Tell that muh'f*cker to bring me some muh'f*ckin weed for this hospital
man f*ck that
Tell that reporter to go pick up ten thousand from Dez
and go take about like twenty G's from Gino
Tell that muh'f*cker get this nigga next door up out of here
Nigga be snorin all night I can't sleep (hehe)
Call that big butt nurse with the long hair to come suck my dick
(Bad Boy Big, c'mon)

The doctor said I need about three weeks of recovery
but the nurses is lovin me
Sayin the best part of the day is my half
Feedin me breakfast, and givin me a sponge bath
Niggaz say I died dead in the streets
Nigga I'm gettin high, gettin head on the beach
Chillin, sittin on about half a million
With all my niggaz, all my guns, all my women
Next two years, I should see about a billion
All for the love of drug dealin
Got no love for the other side, f*ck them tricks (f*ck them)
Any repercussion, Junior M.A.F.I.A. spit clips (that's right)
All the time, Big Poppa kick the war rhymes
Raw flows, and that's how it goes

[Puff Daddy]
NOTORIOUS!
C'mon.. we are, we are
NO, NO, NO, NOTORIOUS!
He is.. he is..
NO, NO, NO, NOTORIOUS!

This for my niggaz slingin thangs, had my ring encaged
Truck, necklace, igloo ring and things
For the bitches, who see them rims spin and grin
That shit with the V-trim that win
and the enormous fields disperse of rap
On the road to the riches more furs to drag
More niggaz to kill, than birds to bag
Hit the jeweler and splurge the tab, uh
Hops, out the truck like, "Trick, what up?"
Call me Sean if you suck, call me gone when I nut
That's the end of us, get your friend to f*ck
Untwist and bend her up, you know the deal
Niggaz talkin real greasy on some ballin shit (that's right)
Funny how quick these pricks forget
Actin like I ain't the reason they traded they shit
Switched that 5, copped that 6 (that's right)
It's all good, you know who the clone is
F*ck the Joneses, niggaz tryin to keep up with the Combses

[Puff Daddy]
C'mon y'all..
NOTORIOUS!
We are, we are .. (what's his name)
NO, NO, NO, NOTORIOUS!
He is, he is.. (c'mon, what's his name?)
NO, NO, NO, NOTORIOUS!

[Lil' Kim]
Who that queen bitch, keep her glass filled to the rim?
The Notorious K-I to the M
That's me, on MTV, no doubt
Titty out like what - I don't give a f*ck!
Y'all know my attitude, can't stand my cologne
Then stay your ass home, you and your chaperone
Things done changed, but we continue to reign
as the King and the Queen of hip-hop, me and B.I.
Frank White still listen to all the (a)'ttention
I'm by his side, with the chrome fifth, playin my position
Sexy, young thing, from the ghetto
That bitch rockin mics in high heel stilletos
We takin over like Francis
Switchin our styles like the hottest new dancers
See, I let y'all live to stack a LITTLE paper
Be glad I pushed my album back, I did y'all hoes a favor!

[Puff Daddy]
She did you a favor, c'mon now, yeah
NOTORIOUS!
NO, NO, NO, NOTORIOUS!
He is, he is.. (c'mon, what's his name?)
Bad Boy baby, D.R. c'mon
NO, NO, NO, NOTORIOUS!
We are, we are ..
Queen Bee baby, we are, c'mon
NO, NO, NO, NOTORIOUS!
He is, he is.. (B.I.G. baby, he is c'mon)
NO, NO, NO, NOTORIOUS!
We are, we are ..
Bad Boy 2000
NO, NO, NO, NOTORIOUS!
B.I.G. Born Again (he is.. he is..)
and he won't stop
NO, NO, NO, NOTORIOUS!
cause he can't stop, yeah, uh-huh
We are, we are.. (Brooklyn baby)
NO, NO, NO, NOTORIOUS!
He is, he is..
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Sean Combs, Christopher Wallace, Davin Vanderpool, John Taylor, Nick Rhodes, Simon Le Bon, Kimberly Jones
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner/Chappell Music, Inc.






Nasty Girl

The Biggie duets (Uh)
Jazze Phizzle (phizzle phizzle)
Jagged Edge
Biggie Smalls
Ladies and gentlemen...

[Biggie Smalls]
I go, on and on and on and
Don't take them to the crib unless they bon'in
Easy, call em on the phone and
platinum Chanel cologne and
I stay, dressed, to impress
Spark these bitches interest
Sex is all I expect
If they watch TV in the Lex, they know
They know, quarter past fo'
Left the club tipsy, say no mo'
Except how I'm gettin home, tomorrow
Caesar drop you off when he see his P.O.(hey)
Back of my mind, I hope she swallow
Man She spilt a drink on my cream wallows
Reach the gate, hungry just ate
Riffin, she got to be to work by eight
This must mean she ain't tryin to wait
Conversate, sex on the first date I state "You know what you do to me"
She starts off, "Well I don't usually"
Then I, whip it out, rubber no doubt
Step out, show me what you all about
Fingers in your mouth, open up your blouse
Pull your G-string down South, aoowww
Threw that back out, in the parking lot
By a Cherokee and a green drop-top
And I don't stop, until I squirt
Jeans skirt butt-naked it all work

[Chorus - Jagged Edge]
Gotta love ma little nasty girl
U know I love ma little nasty girl
I love ma little nasty girl
All the ladies if u hear me
Grab Ur titties for B.I.G
I love ma little nasty girl
All ma women from around the world
I love ma little nasty girl
All the ladies if u hear me
Grab Ur titties for B.I.G

[P. Diddy]
I need u to dance
I need u to strip
I need u to shake Ur little ass n hips
I need u to grind like Ur working for tips
N give me what I need while we listen to prince
Coz miss U ain't seen the world yet
Rocked la pearl yet
Rocked them pearl sets
Flew in em pearl jets (ooooohhhhh)
In a style make a low profile girl smile
Throw a chick back like a blue print trial
Now u n me can drink some Hennessy
Then we get it on
Mad women wantin to bone Sean combs
Sippin on Patron
Speeding we be leanin
Got em feeling
N when I give it to u throw it right back (right back)
Tell me Diddy 'Yeah I like it like that' (like that)
Lift your shirt
U know how I flirt
Heels and skirt
Let's take it off
Now lets work (lets work)

[Chorus]
Gotta love ma little nasty girl
U know I love ma little nasty girl
I love ma little nasty girl
All the ladies if u hear me
Grab Ur titties for B.I.G
I love ma little nasty girl
All ma women from around the world
I love ma little nasty girl
All the ladies if u hear me
Grab Ur titties for B.I.G

[Jagged Edge]
Uh with JE and B.I.G (what, what)
Grab the keys from Diddy (Uh, uh)
The women look-in ... no stress
Meet us upstairs in Ur best .....Yes
Dressed to impress
Spark these bitches interest
Jazze on the beat so sweet
Ladies know u feel me
Grab Ur titties for the B.I.G

[Nelly & Avery Storm]
Ok ma what's Ur preference
Nice and slow
Or fast and wreckless
Pull Ur hair girl, bite Ur necklace
Let me show u what a nigger from Lou blessed with
Hey.... I'll make you spring a leak
When I'm done I flip the mattress
Change the sheet (Gotta change them)
I'm like a radical one
I vibrate a little more than Ur mechanical one
(From Ur titties to you thong)
Either way mama I'm a make u do it or do it
(Girl I'm about to make u come)
Guaranteed when Ur f*ckin with me
(Coz I go on and on and on...on and on and on....on and on and)
Ladies if u feel me
Grab them Thangs fo Biggie

[Chorus]
Gotta love ma little nasty girl
U know I love ma little nasty girl
I love ma little nasty girl (u Gotta love it baby)
All the ladies if u hear me
Grab ur titties for B.I.G
I love ma little nasty girl
All ma women from around the world
I love ma little nasty girl
All the ladies if u hear me
Grab ur titties for B.I.G
[X2]

Ladies and Gentlemen you are now tuning into the very best
Diddy
Jazze Phizzle
Nelly now
Jagged edge (u no that u looovvveee)
The Notorious (notorious)
B. I. G
The Biggie duets
Notorious
Bad boys
Show enough (Show enough)
Notorious
Notorious
Ladies and gentlemen
Let's go [X4]
Hey hey hey... hey
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: RALPH DISTACIO, ANTON ALEXANDER PHALON, CALVIN BROADUS, BRANDON D. CASEY, BRIAN D. CASEY, SEAN COMBS, ELDRA DEBARGE, CORNELL HAYNES, STEVEN JORDAN, SIMON JOHN CHARLES LE BON, HAROLD SPENCER JR LILLY, NICK RHODES, JOYCE SIMS, ANGELA STONE, JOHN TAYLOR, CHRISTOPHER WALLACE, LEROY WATSON, ANTOINE WHITLEY
Copyright: Lyrics © EMI Music Publishing, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Universal Music Publishing Group






Unbelieveable

[Verse One:]

Live from Bedford-Stuyverson, the livest one
Representin BK to the fullest
Gats I pull it, bastards duckin when Big be buckin
Chickenheads be cluckin in my bathroom f*ckin
It ain't nuttin, they know Big be handlin
With the Mac in the act all paneling
Bandaging MC's, oxygen they can't breathe
Mad tricks up the sleeve, red boxers so my dick can breathe
Breeze through in the Q-45 by my side, lyrical high
And those that rushes my cluthes get put on crutches
Get smoked like dutches from the master
Hate to blast ya, but I have ta, you see I smoke a lot
Your life is played out like Kwame, and them f*ckin polka dots
Who rock the spot? Biggie!
You know how the weed yo, unbelievable

[Verse Two:]

B-I-G, G-I-E, AKA, B.I.G.
Get it? Biggie
Also known as the bon appetit
Rappers can't sleep need sleepin Big keep creepin
Bulelts heat-seekin, casualties need treatin
Dumb rappers need teachin
Lesson A - don't f*ck with B-I, that's that, oh I, thought he was wack
Oh come come now, why y'all so dumb now
Hunt me or be hunted, three hundred and fifty-seven ways
To summer sautee, I'm the winner all day
Lights get dimmer down Biggie's hallway
My forte causes caucausians to say
He sounds demented, car-weed scented
If I said it, I meant it
Bite my tongue for no-one
Call me evil, or unbelievable

[Verse Three:]

Buck shots out the sun roof of Lexus Coupe's
Leave no witnesses, what you think this is
Ain't no amateurs here, I damage and tear
MC's fear me, they too near not to hear me
Clearly, I'm the triple beam dream
One thousand grams of uncut to the gut
It seems f*cked up, the way I touched up the grill
Tryin to play gorilla, when you ain't no killer
The gat's by your liver, your upper lip quiver
Get ready to die, tell God I said hi
And throw down some ice, for the nicest MC
Niggaz know the steelo, unbelievable
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Copyright: Lyrics © Original Writer and Publisher






Niggas Bleed

Today's agenda
Got the suitcase up in the Sentra
Go to room 112, tell 'em Blanco sent ya
Feel the strangest
If no money exchanges
I got these kids in Ranges
To leave them niggas brainless
All they tote is stainless
You just remain as
Calm as possible, make the deal go through
If not, here's 12 shots, we know how you do
Please make yo killin's clean
Slugs up in between
They eyes, like True Lies
Kill 'em and flee the scene
Just bring back the coke or the cream
Or else, yo' life is on the shelf
We mean this Frank
Them cats we f*ckin' wit' put bombs in yo' moms gas tank
Let's get this money baby
They shady, we get shady
Dress up like ladies
And burn 'em with dirty 380's
Then they come to kill our babies
That all out
I got gats that blow the wall out
Clear the mall out
F*ck the fallout
Word is Stretch, I bet they pussy
The seven digits push me
F*ckin' real
Here's the deal
I got a hundred bricks, 14-5 a piece
Enough to cop six, by the house on the beach
Supply the peeps with Jeeps
Brick a piece
Capiche?
Everybody gettin' cream
No one considered a leech
Think about it now, that's damn near 1 point 5
I kill 'em all I'll be set for life
Frank pay attention
These muthaf*ckas is henchmen
Renegades, if you die they still get paid
Extra probably, f*ck a robbery
I'm the boss
Promise you won't rob 'em, I promise
But of course you know I had my fingers crossed

Niggas bleed just like us
Picture me bein' scared of a nigga that breathe the same air as me
Niggas bleed just like us
Picture me bein' shook
We can both pull burners, make the muthaf*ckin' beef cook
Niggas bleed just like us
Picture a nigga hidin'
My life in that man hands, while he jus' decidin'
Niggas bleed just like us
I'd rather go toe to toe with all of y'all
Runnin' ain't in my protocol

Since it's on, I call my nigga Arizona Ron
From Tucson, push the black Yukon
Usually had the slow grooves on
Mostly rock the Isley
Stupid as a youngin', chose not to move wisely
Sharper with game, him and his crooks, caught a jooks
Heard it was sweet, 'bout 350 a piece
Ron bought a truck, 2 bricks laid in the cut
His peeps got bucked, got locked the f*ck up
That's the raw vantage, came back, speakin' spanish
Lavish habits, two rings, 20 carats
Here's a criminal
Nigga made America's Most
Killed his baby's mother's brother, slit his throat
The nigga got bagged with the toast, weeded
Took it to trial, beat it
Now he feel he undefeated
He mean it
Nothing To Lose, tattooed around his gun wounds
Everything, the game, embedded in his brain
And me I feel the same for this money and diamonds
'Specially if my daughter cryin', I ain't lyin'
Y'all know the signs

Niggas bleed just like us
Picture me bein' scared of a nigga that breathe the same air as me
Niggas bleed just like us
Picture me bein' shook
We can both pull burners, make the muthaf*ckin' beef cook
Niggas bleed just like us
Picture a nigga hidin'
My life in that man hands, while he jus' decidin'
Niggas bleed just like us
I'd rather go toe to toe with all of y'all
Runnin' ain't in my protocol

We agreed to go and shootin' silly
Because niggas could be hidin' in showers with Mac Billy's
So I freaked 'em
The telly manager was Puerto Rican
Gloria, from Astoria, I went to war with her
Peeps in '91, stole a gun from her workers
And they took drugs, they tried to jerk us
We blaze they place, long story
Glo' seen my face, got shook
Thought a nigga was comin' for the safe
Now she breakin', shut up, 112, what's shakin'
A Jamaican, some bitches I swear
They look gay
In a black Range Rover
Been outside all day
If it's trouble let me know, I'll be on my way
Please I got kids to feed, I done seen you make niggas bleed
Nightmare, this bitch don't leave
Ron, get the gasoline
This spot, we 'bout to blow
Let's get the cash before the cops and Range Rover cats know
It's room 112
Right by the staircase, perfect place
When they evacuate, they meet they fate
Ron pass the gasoline
The nigga pass me kerosene
F*ck it, it's flammable
My hunger is unexplainable
Strike the match, just what I expected
The dread kid ejected in seconds
And here come two
Opposite sexes
One black, one Malaysian
We in the hallway waitin' patient
As soon as she hit the door we start blastin'
I saw her brains hit the floor
Ron laughin'
I swear to God
I hit Maxi Priest at least 12 times in the chest
Spint around, shot the chick in the breast
She cryin', headshots put her to rest
Pop open the briefcases, nothin' but Franco faces
The spots hot, sprinklers, alarm systems
That's when other guests start to slip in
It's time for us to get to dippin'
I know them niggas in the Range is on they way up
Flippin', pistol grippin'
I know they clippin'
The hallway, got real loud and crowded
They walked right past us
I don't know how they allowed it
The funny thing about it
Through all the excitement
They Range got towed, they double parked by a hydrant
Stupid motherf*ckers
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: CARLOS DARONDE BROADY, CHRISTOPHER WALLACE, NASHIEM SA-ALLAH MYRICK, SEAN COMBS
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC






Running Your Mouth

[Notorious B.I.G.]
Where Brooklyn at? Where Brooklyn at?
Where Brooklyn at? Where Brooklyn at?
Where Brooklyn at? Where Brooklyn at?
Where Brooklyn at?

1, 2, 3, and...

[Fabolous]
Now they say you ain't never suppose to envy no man
Can't tell that to a dingy old man
Who see a young nigga getting plently dough man
Icy Audemar, hendy gold band
With a mean girl like Lindsay Lohan
That's why I keep the 9 in the Bently door pan
Trust it's gon' bust you roll on us
Know it's gon' blow for my dough
Why would you try with that guy
Scene told u he keep it G
We can bang like the two chains on my neck
The hood is Iraq I'm Hussein in the 'jects
The coup's up take the new Lame for a sec
12" up, new cane in the deck nigga
Right now with a squeezer and a coozie
And I'm goin out like Keyshia with the uzzi

[Chorus]
They talk about it, we all about it
They making plans, we sit and counting
Our cheddar stack it's just like a mountain
You heard about it cause she running her mouth

She want's to ride, and she's trying to hide it
I'm cool as ever, she's too excited
Her man look like, he want to fight
But he ain't doing nothing, but running his mouth

[Notorious B.I.G.]
F*ck around and feel the fury of a high nigga
When I get busy throw your hands in the sky nigga
I got the illest of the ill mentality, niggas be grabbing me
Knowing that they'd rather be stabbing me
All up in my back trying to take my track
When I used to sell crack I ain't had problems like that
Street rules, watch your pockets and your jewels
A nigga front, throw the gat to the fool
Necks wanna move but's getting blasted
Streets to a flows from the ill ghetto bastard
As I release masterpieces like adhesive
Stuck to your ass, like tissue when your wiping fast
MC's have a hard time believing
I mark with death, hard to kill like Steven
When Jake come I'm leaving, the black man's motto
You got a better chance playing lotto
What you want nigga?

[Chorus]

[Busta Rhymes]
Ah, Yo
Now watch me dip-dip-di-dive all over the beat
Now watch me drip-drip-dri-di all over the street
The general consensus is you'll be the dominating fleet
Bitch raw, and let me continue to bring the heat
You know who been the kings of the block, the kings of the drops
The kings of the crap music and the kings of the cross
Niggas fire then drop shit like the purest of powder
That's why most of these niggas little song be sounding like ours
Couple years ago, niggas probably thought I was dieing
Now same niggas are idolizing put our face in the shrine
Yeah I took a little time to cook and show you what's really hot
How the f*ck any of you niggas think you feeling my spot
Why you niggas getting mad at us, we shit on your floors
All in your house nigga, our strategies is different from yours
Listen, you come you can do it while I continue to preach
Snoop, fam, bigger Bust of the stand if you can't reach

[Chorus]

Uhhh, uhhh
Fox then B.I.G.
Who f*cking with Fox, who want it with I
Bust a shot for me and Big from the villfredo sky
Got my joan fross shit on, hop off my dick
Canary bangle-round I ain't gon' 20 carrots on this bitch
Pull up the Phantom, show 'em how we switch
From the Bentley blinds spur kill 'em with the six
Bedstuy what up y'all, what up with your girl
How she leave dude broke tell them boys on work
I'm in the G5 jedi, Brooklyn what's your chrome
Cause that niggas lieing home if the tutti with the dead-eye
My nigga Neck got hit up in his truck
And no Stranel ain't the same since Homo got touched
Nasty with the pistol, nasty with the clit
See I'm a beast with it, f*cking 'til I'm crippled
Ill nuns squeezing the lhama
Bog roll dutty, Fox and Poppa

[Snoop Dogg]
Run for your gun you suckers
B.I.G. I'm a get them motherf*ckers
Don't you worry about a thing, bang-bang-boogie
I got a few chickens that's gon' work that noggie
In the lack with a sack go and put it on the mat
What it do nephew (Where Brooklyn at?)
Uh, turning it out, run in your house
Gun in your mouth, motherf*cker quit running your mouth

[Chorus]

What you really want from a nigga?...
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: BILLY PRESTON, CHRISTOPHER WALLACE, CORDAZAR BROADUS, EPHREM LOPEZ, GEORGE JOHNSON, JEAN LOUHISDON, JOHN JACKSON, NATE HILLS, STEVEN JORDAN, TREVOR SMITH
Copyright: Lyrics © Memory Lane Music Group (Foreign)






Want That Old Thing Back

[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: CARL THOMPSON, CHRISTOPHER WALLACE, JACK KNIGHT, JEFFREY ATKINS, NORMAN GLOVER, REGINALD ELLIS, SEAN COMBS, TIJUAN FRAMPTON
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group






F*ck You Tonight

[Big] Uhh
[Dad] I like that, you like that? Heh
[Big] Here's another one
[Dad] And another one
[Big] And another one
[Dad] And another one
[Big] Uhh, what, what?

[Intro/Chorus: R. Kelly, Biggie (variations on Big's part)]

You must be used to me spendin
And all that sweet winin and dinin
Well I'm f*ckin you tonight

[Big] Here's another one
And another one
Uhh, uhh, what?

[Verse One: Notorious B.I.G.]

Some say the x, make the sex
Spec-tacular, make me lick you from yo neck
To yo back, then ya, shiverin, tgue deliverin
Chills up that spine, that ass is mine
Skip the wine and the candlelight, no Cristal tonight
If its alright with you, we f*ckin (that's alright)
Deja vu, the blunts sparked, finger f*ckin in the park
Pissy off Bacardi Dark
Remember when I used to play between yo legs
You begged for me to stop because you know where it would head
Straight to yo mother's bed
At the Mariott, we be lucky if we find a spot
Next to yo sister, damn I really missed the
way she used to rub my back, when I hit that
Way she used to giggle when yo ass would wiggle
Now I know you used to sweets at the Parker Meridian
Trips to the Carribean, but tonight, no ends

[Chorus 2X]

[Verse Two: Notorious B.I.G.]

Girl you look fine, like a windface Rolex, you just shine
I like that waistline
Let me hit that from behind, which wall you wanna climb
My styles genuine, girl I love you long time
I got you pinned up, with yo f*ckin limbs up
All because you like the way my Benz was rimmed up
Bitch keep yo shin up, please watch me do thee
Nasty, like it when you make it move fast mommy
I like it when you tro' it pon me
No love makin, strictly back breakin
Ceas' know, all his hoes, go to my door
Then they go to his flo', to f*ck some more
So no, caviar, sharp bar, uh uh
Strictly sex that's pretty and left over spaghetti
I know you used to slow CD's and Don P's
But tonight its eight tracks and six-packs while I hit that

[Chorus 2X]

[Verse Three: R. Kelly]

Lets stop the bullshit baby
Let me take you to the stop, get you hot
So you wanna be with me, Puff Daddy
B.I.G., bring that ass to me

[Chorus: repeat to fade with variations]
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: SEAN COMBS, DARON JONES, DARON TAVARIS JONES, ROBERT S KELLY, CHRISTOPHER WALLACE
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Universal Music Publishing Group








Greatest Hits is a compilation album by The Notorious B.I.G. The album was released on March 6, 2007 by Bad Boy Records and Atlantic Records, three days before the 10th anniversary of his death.

The album was criticized for not containing many of the Notorious B.I.G.'s biggest hits, including: "Mo Money Mo Problems", "Going Back to Cali", "Player's Anthem" and "Sky's the Limit". It was also criticized as an unnecessary release, given the limited amount of material which the Notorious B.I.G. released in his lifetime and the inferior quality of his posthumously-published work.

Greatest Hits debuted on the U.S. Billboard 200 at number one in the issue dated March 14, 2007, with 100,000 copies sold in its first week of release. As of 2019, it is the last greatest hits album to debut at the number one position on the Billboard 200. It is B.I.G's 3rd US #1 on the Billboard 200.

The album sold 178,702 units in four weeks. The album has been certified Platinum by both the BPI and RIAA and has sold over 1,003,000 copies in the US to date.
Performed By: The Notorious BIG
Genre(s): Hip hop
Length: 76:08
Released: March 6th, 2007
Year: 2007

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