[Puff Daddy]
Push
C'mon Shorty stay push, c'mon
C'mon, c'mon push it's almost there
One more time, c'mon
[baby cries]
C'mon push baby, one more time
[baby cries]
Harder harder, push harder
Push, push, c'mon
One more time, here it goes!
I see the head!
Yeah c'mon!
YEAH! YEAHHHH!
You did it baby, yeah!
[Curtis Mayfield's "Super Fly" plays over this]
[Sugarhill Gang's "Rappers Delight" fades in]
... the hibby, the hibby dibby hip hop and ya don't stop!
Rock it out baby bubba, to the boogedy bang bang
The boogey to the boogedy beat
Now what you hear is not a test, I'm rappin, to the beat
[voice comes in over]
God damnit, what the f*ck are you doin?
You can't control that god damn boy? (What?)
I just saw Ms. Jersey, he told me he caught the
motherf*ckin boy and chopped him
(Get your black ass off!)
You can't control the god, I don't know
what the f*ck to do with that boy
(What the f*ck do you, whatta you do?)
If if you can't f*ckin control him
(All you f*ckin do is bitch at me)
Bitch, what I say, I'ma send his motherf*ckin ass
to a group home goddamnit, what??
I'll smack the shit outta you bitch
Take your black ass, the f*ck outta here)
otherf*cker, you are f*ckin up
(Comin in here, smellin like pile of shit, dumb motherf*cker)
[Sugarhill fades out, Audio Two fades in]
Gizmo's cuttin, up for the
Suckers that's, down with me!
What nigga you wanna rob them motherf*ckin trains you crazy?
[B.I.G.:] Yes, yes, motherf*cker, motherf*ckin right, nigga yes
Nigga what the f*ck nigga? We gonna get...
[B.I.G.:] Nigga it's eighty-seven nigga, is you dead broke?
Yeah nigga but, but...
[B.I.G.:] Motherf*cker is you broke motherf*cker?
We need to get some motherf*ckin paper nigga
Yeah but nigga it's a train ain't nobody robbed no motherf*ckin train
[B.I.G.:] Just listen man, your mother givin you money nigga?
My moms don't give me shit nigga, it's time to get paid nigga
is you wit me? [gun clicks] Motherf*ck is you wit me?
Yeah I'm wit you nigga c'mon
[B.I.G.:] Alright then nigga lets make it happen then
All you motherf*ckers get on the f*ckin floor! *blam blam*
Get on the motherf*ckin floor!
[B.I.G.:] Chill, give me all your motherf*ckin money
And don't move nigga!
[B.I.G.:] Give me all your motherf*ckin money, I want the jewelry
Give me every f*ckin thing
Nigga I'd shut the f*ck up or I'ma blow your motherf*ckin brains out!
Nigga, give me your jewerly, give me your wallet
[B.I.G.:] F*ck you bitch, get up off that shit
What the f*ck you holdin on to that shit for bitch?
[Audio Two fades out, Snoop Dogg fades in]
Open C-74, Smalls
Mr. Smalls, let me walk you to the door
So how does it feel leavin us?
[B.I.G.:] C'mon man, what kind of f*ckin question is that man?
Tryin to get the f*ck up out this joint dog
Yeah, yeah, you'll be back
You niggaz always are
[B.I.G.:] Go head man, what the f*ck is you hollerin about?
You won't see me up in this motherf*cker no mroe
We'll see
[B.I.G.:] I got big plans nigga, big plans, hahahahaha
The Notorious BIG - Ready to Die Album Lyrics
The Notorious BIG - Ready to Die Lyrics
Writer: BERNARD EDWARDS, CHRISTOPHER WALLACE, CURTIS MAYFIELD, NILE RODGERS, OSTIN HARVEY
Copyright: Lyrics © Warner Chappell Music, Inc., Songtrust Ave, BMG Rights Management, REACH MUSIC PUBLISHING, T.R.O. INC.
Copyright: Lyrics © Warner Chappell Music, Inc., Songtrust Ave, BMG Rights Management, REACH MUSIC PUBLISHING, T.R.O. INC.
Things Done Changed
Back in the day
Things done changed on this side
Remember they used to thump, but now they blast, right?
Back in the day
Things done changed on this side
Remember they used to thump, but now they blast, right?
Back in the day
Things done changed on this side (yeah)
Remember they used to thump, but now they blast, right?
Back in the day
Things done changed on this side (yeah)
Remember they used to thump, but now they blast, right?
Remember back in the days when niggas had waves
Cazal shades and corn braids?
Pitchin' pennies, honeys had the high-top jellies
Shootin' skelly, motherf*ckers was all friendly
Loungin' at the barbecues, drinkin' brews
With the neighborhood crews, hangin' on the avenues
Turn your pages to 1993
Niggas is gettin' smoked, G, believe me
Talk slick, you get your neck slit quick
'Cause real street niggas ain't havin' that shit
Totin' TECs for rep
Smokin' blunts in the project hallways
Shootin' dice all day
Waitin' for niggas to step up on some fightin' shit
We get hype and shit and start lightin' shit
So step away with your fistfight ways
Motherf*cker, this ain't back in the days
But you don't hear me though
Back in the day
Things done changed on this side
Remember they used to thump, but now they blast, right?
Back in the day
Things done changed on this side
Remember they used to thump, but now they blast, right?
Back in the day
Things done changed on this side
Remember they used to thump, but now they blast, right?
Back in the day
Things done changed on this side
Remember they used to thump, but now they blast, right?
No more coco-levio one, two, three
One, two, three, all it is to me is a mystery
I hear you motherf*ckers talk about it
But I stay seein' bodies with the motherf*ckin' chalk around it
And I'm down with the shit too
For the stupid motherf*ckers wanna try to use Kung-Fu
Instead of a MAC-10, he tried scrappin'
Slugs in his back and that's what the f*ck happens
When you sleep on the street
Little motherf*ckers with heat wanna leave a nigga six feet deep
And we comin' to the wake
To make sure the cryin' and commotion ain't a motherf*ckin' fake
Back in the days our parents used to take care of us
Look at 'em now, they even f*ckin' scared of us
Callin' the city for help because they can't maintain
Damn, shit done changed, uh
Back in the day
Things done changed on this side
Remember they used to thump, but now they blast, right?
Back in the day
Things done changed on this side
Remember they used to thump, but now they blast, right?
Back in the day
Things done changed on this side
Remember they used to thump, but now they blast, right?
Back in the day
Things done changed on this side
Remember they used to thump, but now they blast, right?
If I wasn't in the rap game
I'd probably have a ki, knee-deep in the crack game
Because the streets is a short stop
Either you're slingin' crack rock or you got a wicked jump shot
Shit, it's hard bein' young from the slums
Eatin' five cent gums, not knowin' where your meal's comin' from
And now the shit's gettin' crazier and major
Kids younger than me, they got the Sky brand pagers
Goin' out of town, blowin' up
Six months later, all the dead bodies showin' up
It make me wanna grab the nine and the shotty
But I gotta go identify the body
Damn, what happened to the summertime cookouts
Every time I turn around, a nigga gettin' took out
Shit, my momma got cancer in her breast
Don't ask me why I'm motherf*ckin' stressed, things done changed
Back in the day
Things done changed on this side
Remember they used to thump, but now they blast, right?
Back in the day
Things done changed on this side
Remember they used to thump, but now they blast, right?
Back in the day
Things done changed on this side
Remember they used to thump, but now they blast, right?
Back in the day
Things done changed on this side
Remember they used to thump, but now they blast, right?
Back in the day
Things done changed on this side
Remember they used to thump, but now they blast, right?
Back in the day
Things done changed on this side
Remember they used to thump, but now they blast, right?
Things done changed on this side
Remember they used to thump, but now they blast, right?
Back in the day
Things done changed on this side
Remember they used to thump, but now they blast, right?
Back in the day
Things done changed on this side (yeah)
Remember they used to thump, but now they blast, right?
Back in the day
Things done changed on this side (yeah)
Remember they used to thump, but now they blast, right?
Remember back in the days when niggas had waves
Cazal shades and corn braids?
Pitchin' pennies, honeys had the high-top jellies
Shootin' skelly, motherf*ckers was all friendly
Loungin' at the barbecues, drinkin' brews
With the neighborhood crews, hangin' on the avenues
Turn your pages to 1993
Niggas is gettin' smoked, G, believe me
Talk slick, you get your neck slit quick
'Cause real street niggas ain't havin' that shit
Totin' TECs for rep
Smokin' blunts in the project hallways
Shootin' dice all day
Waitin' for niggas to step up on some fightin' shit
We get hype and shit and start lightin' shit
So step away with your fistfight ways
Motherf*cker, this ain't back in the days
But you don't hear me though
Back in the day
Things done changed on this side
Remember they used to thump, but now they blast, right?
Back in the day
Things done changed on this side
Remember they used to thump, but now they blast, right?
Back in the day
Things done changed on this side
Remember they used to thump, but now they blast, right?
Back in the day
Things done changed on this side
Remember they used to thump, but now they blast, right?
No more coco-levio one, two, three
One, two, three, all it is to me is a mystery
I hear you motherf*ckers talk about it
But I stay seein' bodies with the motherf*ckin' chalk around it
And I'm down with the shit too
For the stupid motherf*ckers wanna try to use Kung-Fu
Instead of a MAC-10, he tried scrappin'
Slugs in his back and that's what the f*ck happens
When you sleep on the street
Little motherf*ckers with heat wanna leave a nigga six feet deep
And we comin' to the wake
To make sure the cryin' and commotion ain't a motherf*ckin' fake
Back in the days our parents used to take care of us
Look at 'em now, they even f*ckin' scared of us
Callin' the city for help because they can't maintain
Damn, shit done changed, uh
Back in the day
Things done changed on this side
Remember they used to thump, but now they blast, right?
Back in the day
Things done changed on this side
Remember they used to thump, but now they blast, right?
Back in the day
Things done changed on this side
Remember they used to thump, but now they blast, right?
Back in the day
Things done changed on this side
Remember they used to thump, but now they blast, right?
If I wasn't in the rap game
I'd probably have a ki, knee-deep in the crack game
Because the streets is a short stop
Either you're slingin' crack rock or you got a wicked jump shot
Shit, it's hard bein' young from the slums
Eatin' five cent gums, not knowin' where your meal's comin' from
And now the shit's gettin' crazier and major
Kids younger than me, they got the Sky brand pagers
Goin' out of town, blowin' up
Six months later, all the dead bodies showin' up
It make me wanna grab the nine and the shotty
But I gotta go identify the body
Damn, what happened to the summertime cookouts
Every time I turn around, a nigga gettin' took out
Shit, my momma got cancer in her breast
Don't ask me why I'm motherf*ckin' stressed, things done changed
Back in the day
Things done changed on this side
Remember they used to thump, but now they blast, right?
Back in the day
Things done changed on this side
Remember they used to thump, but now they blast, right?
Back in the day
Things done changed on this side
Remember they used to thump, but now they blast, right?
Back in the day
Things done changed on this side
Remember they used to thump, but now they blast, right?
Back in the day
Things done changed on this side
Remember they used to thump, but now they blast, right?
Back in the day
Things done changed on this side
Remember they used to thump, but now they blast, right?
Writer: Dominique Owens, Kevin Delance Scott, Christopher Wallace
Copyright: Lyrics © Raleigh Music Publishing LLC, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Copyright: Lyrics © Raleigh Music Publishing LLC, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Gimme The Loot
[Intro:]
Yeah. Motherf*ckers better know... huh, huh. Lock your windows,
Close your doors. Biggie Smalls, huh... yeah.
[Verse 1:]
My man Inf left a Tec and a nine at my crib
Turned himself in, he had to do a bid
A one-to-three, he be home the end of '93
I'm ready to get this paper, G, you with me?
Motherf*cking right, my pocket's looking kind of tight
And I'm stressed, yo Biggie let me get the vest
No need for that, just grab the f*cking gat
The first pocket that's fat the Tec is to his back
Word is bond, I'm a smoke him yo don't fake no moves (what?)
Treat it like boxing: stick and move, stick and move
Nigga, you ain't got to explain shit
I've been robbin motherf*ckers since the slave ships
With the same clip and the same four-five
Two point-blank, a motherf*cker's sure to die
That's my word, nigga even try to bogart
Have his mother singing "It's so hard... "
Yes, love love you're f*cking attitude
Because the nigga play pussy that's the nigga that's getting screwed
And bruised up from the pistol whipping
Webs on the neck from the necklace stripping
Then I'm dipping up the block and I'm robbing bitches too
Up the herring bones and bamboos
I wouldn't give f*ck if you're pregnant
Give me the baby rings and a #1 MOM pendant
I'm slamming niggaz like Shaquille, shit is real
When it's time to eat a meal I rob and steal
'cause Mom Duke ain't giving me shit
So for the bread and butter I leave niggaz in the gutter
Huh, word to mother, I'm dangerous
Crazier than a bag of f*cking Angel Dust
When I bust my gat motherf*ckers take dirt naps
I'm all that and a dime sack, where the papers at?
[Verse 2:]
Big up, big up, it's a stick up, stick up
And I'm shooting niggaz quick if you hiccup
Don't let me fill my clip up in your back and head piece
The opposite of peace sending Mom Duke a wreath
You're talking to the robbery expert
Stepping to your wake with your blood on my shirt
Don't be a jerk and get smoked over being resistant
'cause when I lick shots the shits is persistent
Huh, goodness gracious the papers
Where the cash at? Where the stash at?
Nigga, pass that before you get your grave dug
From the main thug, .357 slug
And my nigga Biggie got an itchy one grip
One in the chamber, 32 in the clip
Motherf*ckers better strip, yeah nigga peel
Before you find out how blue steel feel
From the Beretta, putting all the holes in your sweater
The money getter motherf*ckers don't have better
Rolex watches and colourful Swatches
I'm digging in pockets, motherf*ckers can't stop it
Man, niggaz come through I'm taking high school rings too
Bitches get stripped down for they earrings and bangles
And when I rock her and drop her I'm taking her door knockers
And if she's resistant "baka! baka! baka! "
So go get your man bitch he can get robbed too
Tell him Biggie took it, what the f*ck he gonna do?
I hope apologetic or I'm a have to set it
And if I set it the cocksucker won't forget it
[Verse 3:]
Man, listen all this walking is hurting my feet
But money looks sweet (where at?) in the Isuzu jeep
Man, I throw him in the Beem, you grab the f*cking C.R.E.A.M
And if he start to scream "bam! bam! ", have a nice dream
Hold up, he got a f*cking bitch in the car
Fur coats and diamonds, she thinks she a superstar
Ooh Biggie, let me jack her, I kick her in the back
Hit her with the gat...
Yo chill, Shorty, let me do that...
Just get the f*cking car keys and cruise up the block
The bitch act shocked, gettin shot on the spot
(Oh shit! The cops!) Be cool, fool
They ain't gonna roll up, all they want is f*cking doughnuts
(So why the f*ck he keep lookin?) I guess to get his life tooken
I just came home, ain't trying to see Central Booking
Oh shit, now he lookin in my face
You better haul ass 'cause I ain't with no f*cking chase
So lace up your boots, 'cause I'm about to shoot
A true motherf*cker going out for the loot
Yeah. Motherf*ckers better know... huh, huh. Lock your windows,
Close your doors. Biggie Smalls, huh... yeah.
[Verse 1:]
My man Inf left a Tec and a nine at my crib
Turned himself in, he had to do a bid
A one-to-three, he be home the end of '93
I'm ready to get this paper, G, you with me?
Motherf*cking right, my pocket's looking kind of tight
And I'm stressed, yo Biggie let me get the vest
No need for that, just grab the f*cking gat
The first pocket that's fat the Tec is to his back
Word is bond, I'm a smoke him yo don't fake no moves (what?)
Treat it like boxing: stick and move, stick and move
Nigga, you ain't got to explain shit
I've been robbin motherf*ckers since the slave ships
With the same clip and the same four-five
Two point-blank, a motherf*cker's sure to die
That's my word, nigga even try to bogart
Have his mother singing "It's so hard... "
Yes, love love you're f*cking attitude
Because the nigga play pussy that's the nigga that's getting screwed
And bruised up from the pistol whipping
Webs on the neck from the necklace stripping
Then I'm dipping up the block and I'm robbing bitches too
Up the herring bones and bamboos
I wouldn't give f*ck if you're pregnant
Give me the baby rings and a #1 MOM pendant
I'm slamming niggaz like Shaquille, shit is real
When it's time to eat a meal I rob and steal
'cause Mom Duke ain't giving me shit
So for the bread and butter I leave niggaz in the gutter
Huh, word to mother, I'm dangerous
Crazier than a bag of f*cking Angel Dust
When I bust my gat motherf*ckers take dirt naps
I'm all that and a dime sack, where the papers at?
[Verse 2:]
Big up, big up, it's a stick up, stick up
And I'm shooting niggaz quick if you hiccup
Don't let me fill my clip up in your back and head piece
The opposite of peace sending Mom Duke a wreath
You're talking to the robbery expert
Stepping to your wake with your blood on my shirt
Don't be a jerk and get smoked over being resistant
'cause when I lick shots the shits is persistent
Huh, goodness gracious the papers
Where the cash at? Where the stash at?
Nigga, pass that before you get your grave dug
From the main thug, .357 slug
And my nigga Biggie got an itchy one grip
One in the chamber, 32 in the clip
Motherf*ckers better strip, yeah nigga peel
Before you find out how blue steel feel
From the Beretta, putting all the holes in your sweater
The money getter motherf*ckers don't have better
Rolex watches and colourful Swatches
I'm digging in pockets, motherf*ckers can't stop it
Man, niggaz come through I'm taking high school rings too
Bitches get stripped down for they earrings and bangles
And when I rock her and drop her I'm taking her door knockers
And if she's resistant "baka! baka! baka! "
So go get your man bitch he can get robbed too
Tell him Biggie took it, what the f*ck he gonna do?
I hope apologetic or I'm a have to set it
And if I set it the cocksucker won't forget it
[Verse 3:]
Man, listen all this walking is hurting my feet
But money looks sweet (where at?) in the Isuzu jeep
Man, I throw him in the Beem, you grab the f*cking C.R.E.A.M
And if he start to scream "bam! bam! ", have a nice dream
Hold up, he got a f*cking bitch in the car
Fur coats and diamonds, she thinks she a superstar
Ooh Biggie, let me jack her, I kick her in the back
Hit her with the gat...
Yo chill, Shorty, let me do that...
Just get the f*cking car keys and cruise up the block
The bitch act shocked, gettin shot on the spot
(Oh shit! The cops!) Be cool, fool
They ain't gonna roll up, all they want is f*cking doughnuts
(So why the f*ck he keep lookin?) I guess to get his life tooken
I just came home, ain't trying to see Central Booking
Oh shit, now he lookin in my face
You better haul ass 'cause I ain't with no f*cking chase
So lace up your boots, 'cause I'm about to shoot
A true motherf*cker going out for the loot
Writer: TREVOR SMITH, JAMES JACKSON, BRYAN HIGGINS, CHRISTOPHER WALLACE, OSTEN HARVEY, MALIK TAYLOR, FRED SCRUGGS, CHRIS MARTIN, KIRK JONES, TYRONE TAYLOR, KEITH ELAM, KAMALL FAREED, PARKER CHYLOW, ALI SHAHEED MUHAMMAD
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Universal Music Publishing Group
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Universal Music Publishing Group
Machine Gun Funk
So you wanna be hardcore
With your hat to the back, talkin' 'bout the gats in your raps
But I can't feel that hardcore appeal
That you're screamin', maybe I'm dreamin'
This ain't Christopher Williams, still some
MC's got to feel one, caps I got to peel some
To let niggas know, that if you f*ck with Big-and-Heavy
I get up in that ass like a wedgie
Says who? Says me, the lyrical
Niggas sayin', "Biggie off the street, it's a miracle"
Left the drugs alone, took the thugs along with me
Just for niggas actin' shifty
Sticks and stones break bones, but the gat'll kill you quicker
Especially when I'm drunk off the liquor
Smokin' funk by the boxes, packin' Glocks is
Natural to eat you niggas like chocolates
The funk baby
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
All I want is bitches, big booty bitches
Used to sell crack, so I could stack my riches
Now I pack gats, to stop all the snitches
From stayin' in my business, what is this?
Relentless approach, to know if I'm broke or not
Just 'cause I joke and smoke a lot
Don't mean I don't tote the glock
Sixteen shots for my niggas in the pen
Until we motherf*ckin' meet again
Huh, I'm doin' rhymes now, f*ck the crimes now
Come on the ave, I'm real hard to find now
'Cause I'm knee deep in the beats
In the Land Cruiser Jeep with the MAC-10 by the seats
For the jackers, the jealous ass crackers in the
I'll make you prove that it's bulletproof
Hold ya head, 'cause when you hit the bricks
I got gin, mad blunts, and bitches suckin' dick
The funk baby
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
So I guess you know the story, the rap-side, crack-side
How I smoked funk, smacked bitches on the backside
Bed-Stuy, the place where my head rests
Fifty shot clip if a nigga wan' test
The rocket launcher, Biggie stomped ya
High as a motherf*ckin' helicopter
That's why I pack a nina, f*ck a misdeameanor
Beatin' motherf*ckers like Ike beat Tina
What's love got to do
When I'm rippin' all through your whole crew
Strapped like bamboo, but I don't sling guns
I got bags of funk, and it's sellin' by the tons
Niggas wanna know, how I live the mack life
Makin' money smokin' mics like crack pipes
It's type simple and plain to maintain
I add a little funk to the brain
The funk baby
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
With your hat to the back, talkin' 'bout the gats in your raps
But I can't feel that hardcore appeal
That you're screamin', maybe I'm dreamin'
This ain't Christopher Williams, still some
MC's got to feel one, caps I got to peel some
To let niggas know, that if you f*ck with Big-and-Heavy
I get up in that ass like a wedgie
Says who? Says me, the lyrical
Niggas sayin', "Biggie off the street, it's a miracle"
Left the drugs alone, took the thugs along with me
Just for niggas actin' shifty
Sticks and stones break bones, but the gat'll kill you quicker
Especially when I'm drunk off the liquor
Smokin' funk by the boxes, packin' Glocks is
Natural to eat you niggas like chocolates
The funk baby
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
All I want is bitches, big booty bitches
Used to sell crack, so I could stack my riches
Now I pack gats, to stop all the snitches
From stayin' in my business, what is this?
Relentless approach, to know if I'm broke or not
Just 'cause I joke and smoke a lot
Don't mean I don't tote the glock
Sixteen shots for my niggas in the pen
Until we motherf*ckin' meet again
Huh, I'm doin' rhymes now, f*ck the crimes now
Come on the ave, I'm real hard to find now
'Cause I'm knee deep in the beats
In the Land Cruiser Jeep with the MAC-10 by the seats
For the jackers, the jealous ass crackers in the
I'll make you prove that it's bulletproof
Hold ya head, 'cause when you hit the bricks
I got gin, mad blunts, and bitches suckin' dick
The funk baby
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
So I guess you know the story, the rap-side, crack-side
How I smoked funk, smacked bitches on the backside
Bed-Stuy, the place where my head rests
Fifty shot clip if a nigga wan' test
The rocket launcher, Biggie stomped ya
High as a motherf*ckin' helicopter
That's why I pack a nina, f*ck a misdeameanor
Beatin' motherf*ckers like Ike beat Tina
What's love got to do
When I'm rippin' all through your whole crew
Strapped like bamboo, but I don't sling guns
I got bags of funk, and it's sellin' by the tons
Niggas wanna know, how I live the mack life
Makin' money smokin' mics like crack pipes
It's type simple and plain to maintain
I add a little funk to the brain
The funk baby
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
(I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk)
Writer: Al-terik Wardrick, Chris Martin, Christopher Wallace, Dupre Kelly, Keith Elam, Marlon Williams, Osten Harvey Jr., Kevin M Hansford
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Universal Music Publishing Group
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Universal Music Publishing Group
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
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
Writer: Burt F. Bacharach, Hal David, Osten S. Harvey, Christopher Wallace
Copyright: Lyrics © BMG Rights Management, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Copyright: Lyrics © BMG Rights Management, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Ready To Die
Yeah...
Yeah...
(You ready motherf*cker?)
(We gon' kill your ass)
As I grab the glock, put it to your headpiece
One in the chamber, the safety is off release
Straight at your dome homes, I wanna see cabbage
Biggie Smalls the savage, doin your brain cells much damage
Teflon is the material for the imperial
mic ripper girl stripper the Henny sipper
I drop lyrics off and on like a lightswitch
Quick to grab the right bitch and make her drive
the Q-45, glocks and tecs are expected when I wreck shit
Respect is collected, so check it
I got techniques drippin out my buttcheeks
Sleep on my stomach so I don't f*ck up my sheets, huh
My shit is deep, deeper than my grave G
I'm ready to die and nobody can save me
F*ck the world, f*ck my moms and my girl
My life is played out like a jheri curl, I'm ready to die
As I sit back and look when I used to be a crook
Doin whatever it took from snatchin chains to pocketbooks
A big BAD motherf*cker on the wrong road
I got some drugs tried to get the avenue sold
I want it all from the Rolexes
to the Lexus gettin paid, is all I expected
My mother didn't give me what I want, what the f*ck?
Now I got a glock, makin motherf*ckers duck
Shit is real, and hungry's how I feel
I rob and steal because that money got that whip appeal
Kickin niggaz down the steps just for rep
Any repercussion lead to niggaz gettin wet
The infrared's at your head real steady
You better grab your guns cause I'm ready, ready
I'm ready to die!
(Nah we ain't gon' kill your ass yet)
(We gonna make you suffer)
In a sec I throw the tec to your f*ckin neck
Everybody hit the deck, Biggie bout to get some wreck
Quick to leave you in a coffin, for slick talkin
You better act like CeCe, and keep on walkin
When I hit ya, I split ya to the white meat
You swung on like you slumber right you fell to the conrete
Your face, my feet, they meet, we're stompin
I'm rippin MC's from Tallahassee, to Compton
Biggie Smalls on a higher plane
Niggaz say I'm strange deranged because I put the 12 gauge to your brain
Make your shit splatter
Mix the blood like batter then my pocket gets fatter
after the hit, leave you on the street with your neck split
down your backbone to where your motherf*ckin cheek drip
The shit I kick, rip it through the vest
Biggie Smalls passin any test, I'm ready to die!
I'm ready
(Time to go, we gonna put you out your misery motherf*cker)
Niggaz definitely know what time it is
The Notorious one in full effect
for ninety-three!
Suicidal, I'm ready!
(Now I lay me down to sleep)
Yeah
(Pray the Lord my soul to keep)
(If I should die before I wake)
(I pray the Lord my soul to take)
(Cause I'm ready to die)
(All y'all motherf*ckers come with me if you want to)
(Biggie Smalls the biggest man)
(Rockin on and on in ninety-three, Easy Mo Bee)
(Third Eye, and the rest of the Bad Boy fam)
(I don't wanna see no cryin at my funeral)
Yeah...
(You ready motherf*cker?)
(We gon' kill your ass)
As I grab the glock, put it to your headpiece
One in the chamber, the safety is off release
Straight at your dome homes, I wanna see cabbage
Biggie Smalls the savage, doin your brain cells much damage
Teflon is the material for the imperial
mic ripper girl stripper the Henny sipper
I drop lyrics off and on like a lightswitch
Quick to grab the right bitch and make her drive
the Q-45, glocks and tecs are expected when I wreck shit
Respect is collected, so check it
I got techniques drippin out my buttcheeks
Sleep on my stomach so I don't f*ck up my sheets, huh
My shit is deep, deeper than my grave G
I'm ready to die and nobody can save me
F*ck the world, f*ck my moms and my girl
My life is played out like a jheri curl, I'm ready to die
As I sit back and look when I used to be a crook
Doin whatever it took from snatchin chains to pocketbooks
A big BAD motherf*cker on the wrong road
I got some drugs tried to get the avenue sold
I want it all from the Rolexes
to the Lexus gettin paid, is all I expected
My mother didn't give me what I want, what the f*ck?
Now I got a glock, makin motherf*ckers duck
Shit is real, and hungry's how I feel
I rob and steal because that money got that whip appeal
Kickin niggaz down the steps just for rep
Any repercussion lead to niggaz gettin wet
The infrared's at your head real steady
You better grab your guns cause I'm ready, ready
I'm ready to die!
(Nah we ain't gon' kill your ass yet)
(We gonna make you suffer)
In a sec I throw the tec to your f*ckin neck
Everybody hit the deck, Biggie bout to get some wreck
Quick to leave you in a coffin, for slick talkin
You better act like CeCe, and keep on walkin
When I hit ya, I split ya to the white meat
You swung on like you slumber right you fell to the conrete
Your face, my feet, they meet, we're stompin
I'm rippin MC's from Tallahassee, to Compton
Biggie Smalls on a higher plane
Niggaz say I'm strange deranged because I put the 12 gauge to your brain
Make your shit splatter
Mix the blood like batter then my pocket gets fatter
after the hit, leave you on the street with your neck split
down your backbone to where your motherf*ckin cheek drip
The shit I kick, rip it through the vest
Biggie Smalls passin any test, I'm ready to die!
I'm ready
(Time to go, we gonna put you out your misery motherf*cker)
Niggaz definitely know what time it is
The Notorious one in full effect
for ninety-three!
Suicidal, I'm ready!
(Now I lay me down to sleep)
Yeah
(Pray the Lord my soul to keep)
(If I should die before I wake)
(I pray the Lord my soul to take)
(Cause I'm ready to die)
(All y'all motherf*ckers come with me if you want to)
(Biggie Smalls the biggest man)
(Rockin on and on in ninety-three, Easy Mo Bee)
(Third Eye, and the rest of the Bad Boy fam)
(I don't wanna see no cryin at my funeral)
Writer: BARBARA MASON, OSTEN HARVEY, CHRISTOPHER WALLACE, SEAN PUFFY COMBS, MARSHALL EUGENE JONES, WALTER MORRISON, CLARENCE SATCHELL, GREGORY A. WEBSTER, LE ROY ROOSEVELT BONNER, RALPH MIDDLEBROOK
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, MUSIC SALES CORPORATION
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, MUSIC SALES CORPORATION
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
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
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.
Copyright: Lyrics © BMG Rights Management, Royalty Network, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Downtown Music Publishing, Songtrust Ave, Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
#!*@ Me (Interlude)
Uh, yeah, uh, ooh, oh yeah, mm, yeah
Oh f*ck me you black motherf*cker, ooh yeah! Mm, ah
Oh f*ck me you black Kentucky Fried Chicken eating
Oh, ooh, yeah
You motherf*cking gangster killing, motherf*cking black mafia ass
Motherf*cking, you, oh my God
You chronic-smoking, Oreo-cookie-eating, pickle-juice-drinking, chicken-gristle-eating, biscuit-sucking, motherf*cker
V8-juice-drinking, slim-fast, blending-black greasy motherf*cker
Ooh
What's my name?
Biggie!
What's my name?
Biggie!
Oh yeah
I'm sorry
Ah
Oh shit. Damn
Jenny-Craig-eating motherf*cker
F*ck you bitch
Oh f*ck me you black motherf*cker, ooh yeah! Mm, ah
Oh f*ck me you black Kentucky Fried Chicken eating
Oh, ooh, yeah
You motherf*cking gangster killing, motherf*cking black mafia ass
Motherf*cking, you, oh my God
You chronic-smoking, Oreo-cookie-eating, pickle-juice-drinking, chicken-gristle-eating, biscuit-sucking, motherf*cker
V8-juice-drinking, slim-fast, blending-black greasy motherf*cker
Ooh
What's my name?
Biggie!
What's my name?
Biggie!
Oh yeah
I'm sorry
Ah
Oh shit. Damn
Jenny-Craig-eating motherf*cker
F*ck you bitch
Copyright: Lyrics © Original Writer and Publisher
The What
[Verse One: Notorious, Meth]
I used to get feels on a bitch
Now I throw shields on the dick
To stop me from that HIV shit
And niggaz know they hot like a Twinkie filling
Playin the villian
Prepare for this rap killin
Biggie Smalls is the illest
Your style is played out, like Arnold wondered
"What you talkin bout Willis?"
The thrill is gone, the black Frank White
is here to excite and
throw dick to dykes
Bitches I like em brainless
Guns I like em stainless steel
I want the f*ckin Fortune like the Wheel
I squeeze gats till my clips is empty
Don't tempt me (T-H-O-D Man)
You don't want to f*ck with Biggie
Here I am, I'll be damned if this ain't some shit
Come to spread the butter lyrics over hominy grit
It's the low killer death trap, yes I'm a jet black ninja
Comin where you rest at, surrender
Step inside the ring, youse the number one contender
Lookin cold booty like your pussy in December
Nigga stop bitchin, button up ya lip and
From Method all you gettin is a can of ass-whippin
Hey, I'll be kickin, you son, you doin all the yappin
Actin as if it can't happen
You front and got me mad enough to touch somethin
Yo I'm from Shaolin, Island, and ain't afraid to bust somethin
So what cha want nigga, ya punk nigga
I got a six-shooter and a horse named Trigger
It's real, ninety-four, rugged raw
Kickin down your god damn door (and it goes a lil somethin like this)
[Chorus:]
F*ck the world, don't ask me for shit
And everything you get ya gotta work hard fot it
Honies shake your hips, ya don't stop
And niggaz pack the clips, keep on
[Verse Two: Meth, Notorious]
Verse two, comin with that Olde E brew
Meth-tical, puttin niggaz back in I.C.U.
I'm lifted troop, you can bring yours wack ass crew
I got connections, I'll get that ass stuck like glue, huh
No question, I be comin down and shit
Yo I gets rugged as a motherf*ckin carpet get
And niggaz love it, not in the physical form but in the mental
I spark and they cells get warm
I'm not a gentle, man, I'm a Method, Man!
Baby accept it, utmost respect it
(Assume the position) Stop look and listen
I spit on your grave then I grab my Charles Dickens
Welcome to my center
Honies feel it deep in they placenta
Cold as the pole in the winter
Far from the inventor, but I got this rap shit sewed
And when my Mac unloads
I'm guaranteed another video
Ready to die, why I act that way?
Pop Duke left Mom Duke
The faggot took the back way
So instead of makin hoes suck my dick up
I used to do stick-up
Cause hoes is irritatin like the hic-CUPS
Excuse me, flows just grow through me
Like trees to branches
Cliffs to avalanches
It's the praying mantis
Deep like the mind of Farrakhan
A motherf*ckin rap phenomenon, plus
(I got more glocks and techs than you)
I make it hot (Nigga won't even stand next to you)
Nigga touch me you better bust me
tree times in the head
Or motherf*cker's dead, ya thought so
[Chorus: repeat 2X]
I used to get feels on a bitch
Now I throw shields on the dick
To stop me from that HIV shit
And niggaz know they hot like a Twinkie filling
Playin the villian
Prepare for this rap killin
Biggie Smalls is the illest
Your style is played out, like Arnold wondered
"What you talkin bout Willis?"
The thrill is gone, the black Frank White
is here to excite and
throw dick to dykes
Bitches I like em brainless
Guns I like em stainless steel
I want the f*ckin Fortune like the Wheel
I squeeze gats till my clips is empty
Don't tempt me (T-H-O-D Man)
You don't want to f*ck with Biggie
Here I am, I'll be damned if this ain't some shit
Come to spread the butter lyrics over hominy grit
It's the low killer death trap, yes I'm a jet black ninja
Comin where you rest at, surrender
Step inside the ring, youse the number one contender
Lookin cold booty like your pussy in December
Nigga stop bitchin, button up ya lip and
From Method all you gettin is a can of ass-whippin
Hey, I'll be kickin, you son, you doin all the yappin
Actin as if it can't happen
You front and got me mad enough to touch somethin
Yo I'm from Shaolin, Island, and ain't afraid to bust somethin
So what cha want nigga, ya punk nigga
I got a six-shooter and a horse named Trigger
It's real, ninety-four, rugged raw
Kickin down your god damn door (and it goes a lil somethin like this)
[Chorus:]
F*ck the world, don't ask me for shit
And everything you get ya gotta work hard fot it
Honies shake your hips, ya don't stop
And niggaz pack the clips, keep on
[Verse Two: Meth, Notorious]
Verse two, comin with that Olde E brew
Meth-tical, puttin niggaz back in I.C.U.
I'm lifted troop, you can bring yours wack ass crew
I got connections, I'll get that ass stuck like glue, huh
No question, I be comin down and shit
Yo I gets rugged as a motherf*ckin carpet get
And niggaz love it, not in the physical form but in the mental
I spark and they cells get warm
I'm not a gentle, man, I'm a Method, Man!
Baby accept it, utmost respect it
(Assume the position) Stop look and listen
I spit on your grave then I grab my Charles Dickens
Welcome to my center
Honies feel it deep in they placenta
Cold as the pole in the winter
Far from the inventor, but I got this rap shit sewed
And when my Mac unloads
I'm guaranteed another video
Ready to die, why I act that way?
Pop Duke left Mom Duke
The faggot took the back way
So instead of makin hoes suck my dick up
I used to do stick-up
Cause hoes is irritatin like the hic-CUPS
Excuse me, flows just grow through me
Like trees to branches
Cliffs to avalanches
It's the praying mantis
Deep like the mind of Farrakhan
A motherf*ckin rap phenomenon, plus
(I got more glocks and techs than you)
I make it hot (Nigga won't even stand next to you)
Nigga touch me you better bust me
tree times in the head
Or motherf*cker's dead, ya thought so
[Chorus: repeat 2X]
Writer: OSTEN HARVEY, OSTEN S HARVEY, CLIFFORD SMITH, CHRISTOPHER WALLACE
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Universal Music Publishing Group
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Universal Music Publishing Group
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
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
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
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Downtown Music Publishing, MTUME MUSIC PUBLISHING, Reservoir Media Management, Inc., Cloud9
Everyday Struggle
I don't wanna live no mo'
Sometimes I hear death nocking in my front do'
I'm living everyday like a hustle
Another drug in trouble, another day another struggle
I know how it feels to wake up f*cked up
Pockets broke as hell, another rock to sell
People look at ya like use to used
Selling drugs to all the loosers mad buddha abuser
But they don't know about the stress-filled day
Baby on the way mad bills to pay
That's why you drink tangarate
So you can reminisce and wish
You wasn't living so devilish s-shit
I remember I was just like you
Smoking blunts with my crew
Flipping oldies 62's
'Cause G-E-D was it B-I-G, I got P-A-I-D
That's why my mom hates me
She was forced to kick me out, no doubt
Then I figured out things went for twenty down south
Packed up my tools saw my raw power move
Black nineteen forcasted flower moves
Four drunks trying to stop my flow
And what they don't know will show on the autopsy
Went to see papi, the cock me a brik
Asked for circumcise and he wasn't trying to hear it
Smoking mad Newports 'cause I'm doing court for an assult
That I caught in Bridge Port, New York
Catch me if you can like the ginger bread man
You better have your gat in hand
'Cause man
I don't wanna live no mo'
Sometimes I hear death nocking in my front do'
I'm living everyday like a hustle
Another drug in trouble, another day another struggle
I had the master plan
I'm in the caravan on my way to Maryland
With my man Tutex to take over this projects
They call him Tutex, he tote tutex
And when he smoke the boss
He likes to ask who's next?
I got my honies on the Amtrack
With the crack in the crack of her ass
Two pounds of hash in the stash
I wait for hun to make some quick cash
I told her she could be lieutenant bitch got gassed
At last so I really really lounging Black
Seating back counting double digit thousands stacks
Had to read up see what's up with my peeps
Toyota dealer cars had it cheap on the jeeps
See who got smoked but rumors was spread
Last I heard I was dead with six to the head
Then I got the phone call
It couldn't hit me harder
We got infotrated
Like lino wa' the car
I heard Tec got murdered in a town I've never heard of
By some bitch named Alberta over nickel play the burnace
And my bitch swear to God she won't snitch
I told her where she hit the bricks I'll make the hooker rich
Conspiracy should be home in three
Until them I look south for the home family
A true G, got speed blowing like a bubble
In the everyday struggle
I don't wanna live no mo'
Sometimes I hear death nocking in my front do'
I'm living everyday like a hustle
Another drug in trouble, another day another struggle
I'm seeing body after body and our mayor Giuliani
Ain't trying to see no black man turn into John Gotti
My daughter use a potty so she's older now
Educated street knowledge I'ma mold 'er now
Trick 'er little dope bying young girls tringes
Dealing with the dope fiend binges
Seeing syringes in the veins
Hard to explain how I maintain
The crack smoke makes my brain feel so strange
Breaking days on the set no sweat from cold moet
Can't bag yet because's still wet
But when I dry back in five at a time
I can clock about nine on the check cashing line
I had to burst on the third
Rehearse that's my word
Thinking the game Ds knew my first name
Should I quit? Shit no!
Even though they had me scared
Yo they gotta eight I gotta teck with air holes
That's just how the shit goes in the struggle mother f*cker
I don't wanna live no mo'
Sometimes I hear death nocking in my front do'
I'm living everyday like a hustle
Another drug in trouble, another day another struggle
Sometimes I hear death nocking in my front do'
I'm living everyday like a hustle
Another drug in trouble, another day another struggle
I know how it feels to wake up f*cked up
Pockets broke as hell, another rock to sell
People look at ya like use to used
Selling drugs to all the loosers mad buddha abuser
But they don't know about the stress-filled day
Baby on the way mad bills to pay
That's why you drink tangarate
So you can reminisce and wish
You wasn't living so devilish s-shit
I remember I was just like you
Smoking blunts with my crew
Flipping oldies 62's
'Cause G-E-D was it B-I-G, I got P-A-I-D
That's why my mom hates me
She was forced to kick me out, no doubt
Then I figured out things went for twenty down south
Packed up my tools saw my raw power move
Black nineteen forcasted flower moves
Four drunks trying to stop my flow
And what they don't know will show on the autopsy
Went to see papi, the cock me a brik
Asked for circumcise and he wasn't trying to hear it
Smoking mad Newports 'cause I'm doing court for an assult
That I caught in Bridge Port, New York
Catch me if you can like the ginger bread man
You better have your gat in hand
'Cause man
I don't wanna live no mo'
Sometimes I hear death nocking in my front do'
I'm living everyday like a hustle
Another drug in trouble, another day another struggle
I had the master plan
I'm in the caravan on my way to Maryland
With my man Tutex to take over this projects
They call him Tutex, he tote tutex
And when he smoke the boss
He likes to ask who's next?
I got my honies on the Amtrack
With the crack in the crack of her ass
Two pounds of hash in the stash
I wait for hun to make some quick cash
I told her she could be lieutenant bitch got gassed
At last so I really really lounging Black
Seating back counting double digit thousands stacks
Had to read up see what's up with my peeps
Toyota dealer cars had it cheap on the jeeps
See who got smoked but rumors was spread
Last I heard I was dead with six to the head
Then I got the phone call
It couldn't hit me harder
We got infotrated
Like lino wa' the car
I heard Tec got murdered in a town I've never heard of
By some bitch named Alberta over nickel play the burnace
And my bitch swear to God she won't snitch
I told her where she hit the bricks I'll make the hooker rich
Conspiracy should be home in three
Until them I look south for the home family
A true G, got speed blowing like a bubble
In the everyday struggle
I don't wanna live no mo'
Sometimes I hear death nocking in my front do'
I'm living everyday like a hustle
Another drug in trouble, another day another struggle
I'm seeing body after body and our mayor Giuliani
Ain't trying to see no black man turn into John Gotti
My daughter use a potty so she's older now
Educated street knowledge I'ma mold 'er now
Trick 'er little dope bying young girls tringes
Dealing with the dope fiend binges
Seeing syringes in the veins
Hard to explain how I maintain
The crack smoke makes my brain feel so strange
Breaking days on the set no sweat from cold moet
Can't bag yet because's still wet
But when I dry back in five at a time
I can clock about nine on the check cashing line
I had to burst on the third
Rehearse that's my word
Thinking the game Ds knew my first name
Should I quit? Shit no!
Even though they had me scared
Yo they gotta eight I gotta teck with air holes
That's just how the shit goes in the struggle mother f*cker
I don't wanna live no mo'
Sometimes I hear death nocking in my front do'
I'm living everyday like a hustle
Another drug in trouble, another day another struggle
Writer: REGINALD D ELLIS, NORMAN A GLOVER, DAVE GRUSIN, HARVEY JAY MASON, CHRISTOPHER WALLACE
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Memory Lane Music Group (Foreign)
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Memory Lane Music Group (Foreign)
Me & My Bitch
Yo let-let-let me ask you a question yo
Yo, would you kill for me?
Hmmm, yeah
What took you so long to answer motherf*cker?
I don't know
The f*ck wrong with you bitch?
When I met you I admit my first thoughts was to trick
You look so good huh, I suck on your daddy's dick
I never felt that way in my life
It didn't take long before I made you my wife
Got no rings and shit, just my main squeeze
Comin' to the crib, even had a set a keys
During the days you helped me bag up my nickels
In the process, I admit, I tricked a little
But you was my bitch, the one who'd never snitch
Love me when I'm broke or when I'm filthy f*ckin' rich
And I admit, when the time is right, the wine is right
I treat you right, you talk slick, I beat you right
Just me and my bitch, me and my bitch
Just me and my bitch, uh, just me and my bitch
Just me and my bitch, just me and my bitch
Just me and my bitch, just me and my bitch
Just me and my bitch, just me and my bitch
Just me and my bitch, just me and my bitch
Yeah, just me and my bitch
Moonlight strolls with the hoes, oh no, that's not my steelo
I wanna bitch that like to play ceelo, and craps
Packin' gats, in a Coach bag steamin' dime bags
A real bitch is all I want, all I ever had
With a bop just as strong as me
Totin' guns just as long as me, the bitch belongs with me
Any plans with another bitch, my bitch'll spoil it
One day, she used my toothbrush to clean the toilet (that's nasty)
Throwin' my clothes out the windows, so when the wind blows
I see my Polos and Timbos
Hide my car keys so I can't leave
A real slick bitch, keep a trick up her sleeve
And if I deceive, she won't take it lightly
She'll invite me, politely, to fight, G
And then we lie together, cry together
I swear to God I hope we f*ckin' die together
Just me and my bitch, just me and my bitch
Just me and my bitch, just me and my bitch
Just me and my bitch, uh, just me and my bitch
Just me and my bitch, just me and my bitch
Just me and my bitch, just me and my bitch
Just me and my bitch, just me and my bitch
She helped me plan out my robberies on my enemies
Didn't hesitate to squeeze, to get my life out of danger
One day, she put 911 on the pager
Had to call back, whether it's minor or major
No response, the phone just rung
Grab my vest, grab my gun, to find out the problem
When I pulled up, police was on the scene
Had to make the U-turn, make sure my shit was clean
Drove down the block, stashed the burner in the bushes
Stepped to police with the shoves and the pushes
It didn't take long before the tears start
I saw my bitch dead with the gunshot to the heart
And I know it was meant for me
I guess the niggas felt they had to kill the closest one to me
And when I find 'em your life is to an end
They killed my best friend, me and my bitch
Just me and my bitch, me and my bitch
Just me and my, just me and my bitch, uh
Just me and my bitch, me and my bitch
Just me and my, just me and my bitch, uh (just me and my bitch)
Just me and my bitch, just me and my bitch
Yeah, just me and my bitch (just me and my bitch)
Just me and my bitch, me and my bitch
Just me and my bitch
So when did you first start rappin'?
Um, I was like about 18 years old. Yeah, about 18
So how did you first get started? Who influenced you?
Ain't nobody really influenced me, you know what I'm saying?
I was just tired of being on the streets, you know what I'm saying?
Had to get up off that, you know
I see. So where you from?
Brooklyn
Yo, would you kill for me?
Hmmm, yeah
What took you so long to answer motherf*cker?
I don't know
The f*ck wrong with you bitch?
When I met you I admit my first thoughts was to trick
You look so good huh, I suck on your daddy's dick
I never felt that way in my life
It didn't take long before I made you my wife
Got no rings and shit, just my main squeeze
Comin' to the crib, even had a set a keys
During the days you helped me bag up my nickels
In the process, I admit, I tricked a little
But you was my bitch, the one who'd never snitch
Love me when I'm broke or when I'm filthy f*ckin' rich
And I admit, when the time is right, the wine is right
I treat you right, you talk slick, I beat you right
Just me and my bitch, me and my bitch
Just me and my bitch, uh, just me and my bitch
Just me and my bitch, just me and my bitch
Just me and my bitch, just me and my bitch
Just me and my bitch, just me and my bitch
Just me and my bitch, just me and my bitch
Yeah, just me and my bitch
Moonlight strolls with the hoes, oh no, that's not my steelo
I wanna bitch that like to play ceelo, and craps
Packin' gats, in a Coach bag steamin' dime bags
A real bitch is all I want, all I ever had
With a bop just as strong as me
Totin' guns just as long as me, the bitch belongs with me
Any plans with another bitch, my bitch'll spoil it
One day, she used my toothbrush to clean the toilet (that's nasty)
Throwin' my clothes out the windows, so when the wind blows
I see my Polos and Timbos
Hide my car keys so I can't leave
A real slick bitch, keep a trick up her sleeve
And if I deceive, she won't take it lightly
She'll invite me, politely, to fight, G
And then we lie together, cry together
I swear to God I hope we f*ckin' die together
Just me and my bitch, just me and my bitch
Just me and my bitch, just me and my bitch
Just me and my bitch, uh, just me and my bitch
Just me and my bitch, just me and my bitch
Just me and my bitch, just me and my bitch
Just me and my bitch, just me and my bitch
She helped me plan out my robberies on my enemies
Didn't hesitate to squeeze, to get my life out of danger
One day, she put 911 on the pager
Had to call back, whether it's minor or major
No response, the phone just rung
Grab my vest, grab my gun, to find out the problem
When I pulled up, police was on the scene
Had to make the U-turn, make sure my shit was clean
Drove down the block, stashed the burner in the bushes
Stepped to police with the shoves and the pushes
It didn't take long before the tears start
I saw my bitch dead with the gunshot to the heart
And I know it was meant for me
I guess the niggas felt they had to kill the closest one to me
And when I find 'em your life is to an end
They killed my best friend, me and my bitch
Just me and my bitch, me and my bitch
Just me and my, just me and my bitch, uh
Just me and my bitch, me and my bitch
Just me and my, just me and my bitch, uh (just me and my bitch)
Just me and my bitch, just me and my bitch
Yeah, just me and my bitch (just me and my bitch)
Just me and my bitch, me and my bitch
Just me and my bitch
So when did you first start rappin'?
Um, I was like about 18 years old. Yeah, about 18
So how did you first get started? Who influenced you?
Ain't nobody really influenced me, you know what I'm saying?
I was just tired of being on the streets, you know what I'm saying?
Had to get up off that, you know
I see. So where you from?
Brooklyn
Writer: SEAN COMBS, REGINALD D ELLIS, NORMAN A GLOVER, CHUCKY THOMPSON, CHRISTOPHER WALLACE
Copyright: Lyrics © MUSIC & MEDIA INT'L, INC., Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Copyright: Lyrics © MUSIC & MEDIA INT'L, INC., Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
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
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
Writer: O'Kelly Isley, Christopher Jasper, Ernie Isley, Rudolph Isley, Ronald Isley, Christopher Wallace, Marvin Isley
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Respect
No big up our gun men, seen? (Big up, big up)
Cuh dis ah 94' when ah RAA fi kill people and kyaan dun
Nuh waan pussy hole hold di kaanah
Watch this, lawd
Me holla respect, to all the gun men dem
Gun men alone, keep gun men friend
Fire bun, fi all the informer dem
Informer lone keep informer friend
Nineteen seventy somethin' nigga I don't sweat the date
My moms is late so I had to plan my escape
Out the skins in this world of fly girls
Tanqueray and Hennessy until I cold hurl
Ten months in this gut what the f*ck
I wish moms'd hurry up so I could get buck
Wild juvenile rippin' mics and shit
New York New York ready for the likes of this uh
Then came the worst date May 21st
2:19, that's when my momma water burst
No spouse in the house so she rode for self
To the hospital, to see if she could get a little help
Umbilical cord's wrapped around my neck
I'm seein' my death and I ain't even took my first step
I made it out, I'm bringin' mad joy
The doctor looked and said, "He's gonna be a Bad Boy"
Me holla respect, to all the gun men dem
Gun men alone, keep gun men friend
Fire bun, fi all the informer dem
Informer lone keep informer friend
Now I'm thirteen, smokin' blunts, makin' cream
On the drug scene, f*ck a football team
Riskin' ruptured spleens by the age of sixteen
Hearin' the coach scream ain't my lifetime dream, I mean
I want to blow up, stack my dough up
So school I didn't show up, it f*cked my flow up
Mom said that I should grow up and check myself
Before I wreck myself, disrespect myself
Put the drugs on the shelf? Nah, couldn't see it
Scarface, King of New York, I want to be it
Rap was secondary, money was necessary
Until I got incarcerated, kinda scary
C74-Mark 8 set me straight
Not able to move behind the great steel gate
Time to contemplate, damn, where did I fail?
All the money I stacked was all the money for bail
Me holla respect, to all the gun men dem
Gun men alone, keep gun men friend
Fire bun, fi all the informer dem
Informer lone keep informer friend
Watch mi respect, to all the gun men dem
Gun men alone, keep gun men friend
Fire bun, fi all the informer dem
Informer lone keep informer friend
Ninety-four, now I explore new horizons
Mama smile when she see me, that's surprisin'
Honey's is tantalizin', they freak all night
Peep duckin' cops on the creep all night
As I open my eyes and realizin' I changed
Not the same deranged child stuck up in the game
And to my niggas livin' street life
Learn to treat life to the best, put stress to rest
Still tote your vest man, niggas be trippin'
In the streets without a gat? Nah, nigga you're slippin'
If I'm trippin' on The F with weed on my breath
Original hustler with the muffler on the TEC
Respect to the Mack's and the Ac's
To the freaks in the Jeeps, lick shots to my peeps
Me holla respect, to all the gun men dem
Gun men alone, keep gun men friend
Fire bun, fi all the informer dem
Informer lone keep informer friend
Watch mi respect, to all the gun men dem
Gun men alone, keep gun men friend
Fire bun, fi all the informer dem
Informer lone keep informer friend
Now this is Diana King doing a Yankee thing
In a Biggie Small's thing, do it, Jah
Have mercy
The gunman inna di party
And everybody feel irie
And everybody just follow me, follow me, follow me
Have mercy
The wul ah we in ah di party
And everybody look irie
Now di man them sexy, sexy, sexy
Do it!
No mercy fuh nuh big up unnu self
Cuh we nuh watch nuhtin to say or see
Hardcore ting we ah deal with
Oh yes, we are the best
No other guy cyaan
Say it mami, damn, why you actin' like that man?
'Cause I don't be doin' this
I'm sayin', you know it ain't nothin'
It's just part of sex, ya know'm saying
But you know I don't do this, I don't even know how to do this
I'm just sayin' mami, jus-just a little peck mami, for daddy
Just a little peck
Like that?
That's what I'm sayin', yeah
You know I don't be doin' this though tho', you know that
Whatever bitch, damnit
Cuh dis ah 94' when ah RAA fi kill people and kyaan dun
Nuh waan pussy hole hold di kaanah
Watch this, lawd
Me holla respect, to all the gun men dem
Gun men alone, keep gun men friend
Fire bun, fi all the informer dem
Informer lone keep informer friend
Nineteen seventy somethin' nigga I don't sweat the date
My moms is late so I had to plan my escape
Out the skins in this world of fly girls
Tanqueray and Hennessy until I cold hurl
Ten months in this gut what the f*ck
I wish moms'd hurry up so I could get buck
Wild juvenile rippin' mics and shit
New York New York ready for the likes of this uh
Then came the worst date May 21st
2:19, that's when my momma water burst
No spouse in the house so she rode for self
To the hospital, to see if she could get a little help
Umbilical cord's wrapped around my neck
I'm seein' my death and I ain't even took my first step
I made it out, I'm bringin' mad joy
The doctor looked and said, "He's gonna be a Bad Boy"
Me holla respect, to all the gun men dem
Gun men alone, keep gun men friend
Fire bun, fi all the informer dem
Informer lone keep informer friend
Now I'm thirteen, smokin' blunts, makin' cream
On the drug scene, f*ck a football team
Riskin' ruptured spleens by the age of sixteen
Hearin' the coach scream ain't my lifetime dream, I mean
I want to blow up, stack my dough up
So school I didn't show up, it f*cked my flow up
Mom said that I should grow up and check myself
Before I wreck myself, disrespect myself
Put the drugs on the shelf? Nah, couldn't see it
Scarface, King of New York, I want to be it
Rap was secondary, money was necessary
Until I got incarcerated, kinda scary
C74-Mark 8 set me straight
Not able to move behind the great steel gate
Time to contemplate, damn, where did I fail?
All the money I stacked was all the money for bail
Me holla respect, to all the gun men dem
Gun men alone, keep gun men friend
Fire bun, fi all the informer dem
Informer lone keep informer friend
Watch mi respect, to all the gun men dem
Gun men alone, keep gun men friend
Fire bun, fi all the informer dem
Informer lone keep informer friend
Ninety-four, now I explore new horizons
Mama smile when she see me, that's surprisin'
Honey's is tantalizin', they freak all night
Peep duckin' cops on the creep all night
As I open my eyes and realizin' I changed
Not the same deranged child stuck up in the game
And to my niggas livin' street life
Learn to treat life to the best, put stress to rest
Still tote your vest man, niggas be trippin'
In the streets without a gat? Nah, nigga you're slippin'
If I'm trippin' on The F with weed on my breath
Original hustler with the muffler on the TEC
Respect to the Mack's and the Ac's
To the freaks in the Jeeps, lick shots to my peeps
Me holla respect, to all the gun men dem
Gun men alone, keep gun men friend
Fire bun, fi all the informer dem
Informer lone keep informer friend
Watch mi respect, to all the gun men dem
Gun men alone, keep gun men friend
Fire bun, fi all the informer dem
Informer lone keep informer friend
Now this is Diana King doing a Yankee thing
In a Biggie Small's thing, do it, Jah
Have mercy
The gunman inna di party
And everybody feel irie
And everybody just follow me, follow me, follow me
Have mercy
The wul ah we in ah di party
And everybody look irie
Now di man them sexy, sexy, sexy
Do it!
No mercy fuh nuh big up unnu self
Cuh we nuh watch nuhtin to say or see
Hardcore ting we ah deal with
Oh yes, we are the best
No other guy cyaan
Say it mami, damn, why you actin' like that man?
'Cause I don't be doin' this
I'm sayin', you know it ain't nothin'
It's just part of sex, ya know'm saying
But you know I don't do this, I don't even know how to do this
I'm just sayin' mami, jus-just a little peck mami, for daddy
Just a little peck
Like that?
That's what I'm sayin', yeah
You know I don't be doin' this though tho', you know that
Whatever bitch, damnit
Writer: CHRISTOPHER WALLACE, DIANA KING, HARRY WAYNE CASEY, RICHARD RAYMOND FINCH
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner Chappell Music, Inc., Downtown Music Publishing
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner Chappell Music, Inc., Downtown Music Publishing
Friend Of Mine
F*ck the bitches, f*ck all the stank-ass hoes, all my niggas know
Junior M.A.F.I.A. clique, Gucci Don, you know how we play
F*ckin' scandalous-ass bitches, you know how it go, Gooch
I meet a bitch, f*ck a bitch
Next thing you know you f*ckin' the bitch
You just pass it around and shit, pass the shit like a cold and shit
F*ck 'em
Now when I'm f*cking off gin I'm invincible
Don't love no ho, that's my principle
'Cause uh, bitches come (and uh) bitches go
That's why I get my nut and I be out the f*cking door
You know they might be the one to set me up
Want to get they little brother to wet me up
That's why I tote TECs and stuff to get them off my case
Just in case the little f*cker ends up misplaced
I don't give a bitch enough to catch the bus
And when I see the semen I'm leaving
Bitches be scheming, I kid you not
That's why I keep my windows locked and my Glock cocked
One ho said, "Big, why you so hard on us?
Why you swear all bitches are so scandalous?"
Thug nigga until the end, tell a friend bitch
'Cause when I like you, then you go and f*ck my friend bitch
(And you know that ain't right)
You know that ain't right, with a friend of mine
You know that ain't right, with a friend of mine
You know that ain't right, with a friend of mine
You know that ain't right, with a friend of mine
You see, I don't sweat these hoes
I keep them in flavors like Timbos and Girbauds
Bitches just like to play the merry-go (yeah we know, drop the scenario)
It was me, Dee, the MPV
The blunts and brew thang, knocking some Wu-tang
M-E-T-H-Oh shit, look at them lips and them hips on that bitch
Dee hit the dip, so I can drop my mackadocious shit
Light the blunt clip, and recognize a pimp
Needless to speak, the G's obsolete
Don't sleep, banged the skins in a week
On the creep up the avenue
I seen her on the block, who she rapping to?
That's my nigga Dee, damn he got G
Now she f*cking him and f*cking me, see
You know that ain't right
You know that ain't right, with a friend of mine
You know that ain't right, with a friend of mine
You know that ain't right, with a friend of mine
You know that ain't right, with a friend of mine
Uh now I play her far like a moon play a star
She still sweat me hard 'cause I'm a rap star
I be cruising up the block, I be passing her
Pimping hard with the female passenger
And the only time I call her to hang
Is when me and Dee blunted up, pissy, scheming on a gang-bang
She should have used her intuition
Then she wouldn't be classified in that position, listen
She's saying I dissed her 'cause I'm f*cking her sister
A message to the fellas, that really gets them pissed, uh
But she started that f*cking family
She f*cked my man Dee, so why she mad at me? (True)
Plus your sister look better than you
Give head better than you, pussy get wetter than you
So break the f*ck out like a rash
I'm glad I ain't spend no cash to hit your nasty ass
You know that ain't right, with a friend of mine
You know that ain't right, with a friend of mine
You know that ain't right, with a friend of mine
You know that ain't right, with a friend of mine
Junior M.A.F.I.A. clique, Gucci Don, you know how we play
F*ckin' scandalous-ass bitches, you know how it go, Gooch
I meet a bitch, f*ck a bitch
Next thing you know you f*ckin' the bitch
You just pass it around and shit, pass the shit like a cold and shit
F*ck 'em
Now when I'm f*cking off gin I'm invincible
Don't love no ho, that's my principle
'Cause uh, bitches come (and uh) bitches go
That's why I get my nut and I be out the f*cking door
You know they might be the one to set me up
Want to get they little brother to wet me up
That's why I tote TECs and stuff to get them off my case
Just in case the little f*cker ends up misplaced
I don't give a bitch enough to catch the bus
And when I see the semen I'm leaving
Bitches be scheming, I kid you not
That's why I keep my windows locked and my Glock cocked
One ho said, "Big, why you so hard on us?
Why you swear all bitches are so scandalous?"
Thug nigga until the end, tell a friend bitch
'Cause when I like you, then you go and f*ck my friend bitch
(And you know that ain't right)
You know that ain't right, with a friend of mine
You know that ain't right, with a friend of mine
You know that ain't right, with a friend of mine
You know that ain't right, with a friend of mine
You see, I don't sweat these hoes
I keep them in flavors like Timbos and Girbauds
Bitches just like to play the merry-go (yeah we know, drop the scenario)
It was me, Dee, the MPV
The blunts and brew thang, knocking some Wu-tang
M-E-T-H-Oh shit, look at them lips and them hips on that bitch
Dee hit the dip, so I can drop my mackadocious shit
Light the blunt clip, and recognize a pimp
Needless to speak, the G's obsolete
Don't sleep, banged the skins in a week
On the creep up the avenue
I seen her on the block, who she rapping to?
That's my nigga Dee, damn he got G
Now she f*cking him and f*cking me, see
You know that ain't right
You know that ain't right, with a friend of mine
You know that ain't right, with a friend of mine
You know that ain't right, with a friend of mine
You know that ain't right, with a friend of mine
Uh now I play her far like a moon play a star
She still sweat me hard 'cause I'm a rap star
I be cruising up the block, I be passing her
Pimping hard with the female passenger
And the only time I call her to hang
Is when me and Dee blunted up, pissy, scheming on a gang-bang
She should have used her intuition
Then she wouldn't be classified in that position, listen
She's saying I dissed her 'cause I'm f*cking her sister
A message to the fellas, that really gets them pissed, uh
But she started that f*cking family
She f*cked my man Dee, so why she mad at me? (True)
Plus your sister look better than you
Give head better than you, pussy get wetter than you
So break the f*ck out like a rash
I'm glad I ain't spend no cash to hit your nasty ass
You know that ain't right, with a friend of mine
You know that ain't right, with a friend of mine
You know that ain't right, with a friend of mine
You know that ain't right, with a friend of mine
Writer: Ronald D. Bell, Robert Bell, George Brown, Otha Nash, Claydes Smith, Richard Westfield, Robert Mickens, Donald Boyce, Dennis Thomas, Christopher Wallace, Osten S. Harvey Jr.
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
Unbelievable
Biggie Smalls is the illest (uh)
What? Uh
Biggie-Biggie-Biggie Smalls is the illest
Uh
Biggie Smalls, Biggie-Biggie-Biggie Smalls
Biggie-Biggie-Biggie Smalls is the illest
Uh, yeah
Biggie-Biggie-Biggie Smalls is the illest
Live from Bedford-Stuyvesant, the livest one
Representin' BK to the fullest
Gats I pull it, bastards duckin' when B.I.G. be buckin'
Chickenheads be cluckin' in my bathroom f*ckin'
It ain't nothin', they know B.I.G. be handlin'
With the MAC in the Ac' door panelin'
Bandagin' MC's, oxygen they can't breathe
Mad tricks up the sleeve, wear boxers so my dick can breathe
Breeze through in the Q, .45 by my side, lyrical high
And those that rushes my clutches get put on crutches
Get smoked like Dutches from the master
Hate to blast you, but I have to, 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 go, unbelievable
It's unbelievable
Biggie Smalls is the illest
It's unbelievable (uh)
Biggie-Biggie-Biggie Smalls is the illest (uh, yeah)
It's unbelievable
Biggie-Biggie-Biggie Smalls is the illest (what? What? Uh)
It's unbelievable
Biggie-Biggie-Biggie Smalls is the illest
B-I-G, G-I-E, AKA, B.I.G.
Get it? Biggie
Also known as the bon appétit
Rappers can't sleep need sleepin'
B.I.G. keep creepin'
Bullets 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
I got three hundred and fifty-seven ways
To simmer sauté, I'm the winner all day
Lights get dimmer down Biggie's hallway
My forte causes Caucasians 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
It's unbelievable
Biggie Smalls is the illest
It's unbelievable
Biggie-Biggie-Biggie Smalls is the illest (uh)
It's unbelievable (what? Uh)
Biggie Smalls is the illest (uh)
It's unbelievable
Biggie-Biggie-Biggie Smalls is the illest
Buckshots out the sun roof of Lexus coupes
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
Niggas know the steelo, unbelievable
It's unbelievable
Biggie Smalls is the illest
It's unbelievable
Biggie-Biggie-Biggie Smalls is the illest
It's unbelievable
Biggie-Biggie-Biggie Smalls is the illest
It's unbelievable
Biggie-Biggie-Biggie Smalls is the illest
It's unbelievable
Biggie-Biggie-Biggie Smalls is the illest
'Believable
Biggie-Biggie-Biggie Smalls is the illest
'Believable
Biggie-Biggie-Biggie Smalls is the illest
'Believable
Biggie Smalls-Biggie-Biggie-Biggie Smalls
Biggie-Biggie-Biggie Smalls is the illest
What? Uh
Biggie-Biggie-Biggie Smalls is the illest
Uh
Biggie Smalls, Biggie-Biggie-Biggie Smalls
Biggie-Biggie-Biggie Smalls is the illest
Uh, yeah
Biggie-Biggie-Biggie Smalls is the illest
Live from Bedford-Stuyvesant, the livest one
Representin' BK to the fullest
Gats I pull it, bastards duckin' when B.I.G. be buckin'
Chickenheads be cluckin' in my bathroom f*ckin'
It ain't nothin', they know B.I.G. be handlin'
With the MAC in the Ac' door panelin'
Bandagin' MC's, oxygen they can't breathe
Mad tricks up the sleeve, wear boxers so my dick can breathe
Breeze through in the Q, .45 by my side, lyrical high
And those that rushes my clutches get put on crutches
Get smoked like Dutches from the master
Hate to blast you, but I have to, 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 go, unbelievable
It's unbelievable
Biggie Smalls is the illest
It's unbelievable (uh)
Biggie-Biggie-Biggie Smalls is the illest (uh, yeah)
It's unbelievable
Biggie-Biggie-Biggie Smalls is the illest (what? What? Uh)
It's unbelievable
Biggie-Biggie-Biggie Smalls is the illest
B-I-G, G-I-E, AKA, B.I.G.
Get it? Biggie
Also known as the bon appétit
Rappers can't sleep need sleepin'
B.I.G. keep creepin'
Bullets 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
I got three hundred and fifty-seven ways
To simmer sauté, I'm the winner all day
Lights get dimmer down Biggie's hallway
My forte causes Caucasians 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
It's unbelievable
Biggie Smalls is the illest
It's unbelievable
Biggie-Biggie-Biggie Smalls is the illest (uh)
It's unbelievable (what? Uh)
Biggie Smalls is the illest (uh)
It's unbelievable
Biggie-Biggie-Biggie Smalls is the illest
Buckshots out the sun roof of Lexus coupes
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
Niggas know the steelo, unbelievable
It's unbelievable
Biggie Smalls is the illest
It's unbelievable
Biggie-Biggie-Biggie Smalls is the illest
It's unbelievable
Biggie-Biggie-Biggie Smalls is the illest
It's unbelievable
Biggie-Biggie-Biggie Smalls is the illest
It's unbelievable
Biggie-Biggie-Biggie Smalls is the illest
'Believable
Biggie-Biggie-Biggie Smalls is the illest
'Believable
Biggie-Biggie-Biggie Smalls is the illest
'Believable
Biggie Smalls-Biggie-Biggie-Biggie Smalls
Biggie-Biggie-Biggie Smalls is the illest
Writer: Robert S. Kelly, Christopher Wallace, Chris E. Martin
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Songtrust Ave, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Songtrust Ave, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Suicidal Thoughts
[RING, RING]
(Hello? Aw shit, nigga. What the f*ck time is it, man?
Oh god damn. Nigga do you know what time it is?
Aw shit, what the f*ck's goin' on? You alright?
Aw, nigga what the f*ck is wrong wit you?)
When I die, f*ck it I wanna go to hell
Cause I'm a piece of shit, it ain't hard to f*ckin' tell
It don't make sense, goin' to heaven wit the goodie-goodies
Dressed in white, I like black Tims and black hoodies
God will probably have me on some real strict shit
No sleepin' all day, no gettin my dick licked
Hangin' with the goodie-goodies loungin' in paradise
F*ck that shit, I wanna tote guns and shoot dice
All my life I been considered as the worst
Lyin' to my mother, even stealin' out her purse
Crime after crime, from drugs to extortion
I know my mother wished she got a f*ckin' abortion
She don't even love me like she did when I was younger
Suckin' on her chest just to stop my f*ckin' hunger
I wonder if I died, would tears come to her eyes?
Forgive me for my disrespect, forgive me for my lies
My babies' mothers 8 months, her little sister's 2
Who's to blame for both of them (naw nigga, not you)
I swear to God I just want to slit my wrists and end this bullshit
Throw the Magnum to my head, threaten to pull shit
And squeeze, until the bed's, completely red
I'm glad I'm dead, a worthless f*ckin' buddah head
The stress is buildin' up, I can't,
I can't believe suicide's on my f*ckin' mind
I want to leave, I swear to God I feel like death is f*ckin' callin' me
Naw you wouldn't understand (nigga, talk to me please)
You see its kinda like the crack did to Pookie, in New Jack
Except when I cross over, there ain't no comin' back
Should I die on the train track, like Remo in Beatstreet
People at the funeral frontin' like they miss me
My baby momma kissed me but she glad I'm gone
She knew me and her sista had somethin' goin' on
I reach my peak, I can't speak,
call my nigga Chic, tell him that my will is weak.
I'm sick of niggas lyin', I'm sick of bitches hawkin',
matter of fact, I'm sick of talkin'.
[BANG]
(hey yo big...hey yo big)
(Hello? Aw shit, nigga. What the f*ck time is it, man?
Oh god damn. Nigga do you know what time it is?
Aw shit, what the f*ck's goin' on? You alright?
Aw, nigga what the f*ck is wrong wit you?)
When I die, f*ck it I wanna go to hell
Cause I'm a piece of shit, it ain't hard to f*ckin' tell
It don't make sense, goin' to heaven wit the goodie-goodies
Dressed in white, I like black Tims and black hoodies
God will probably have me on some real strict shit
No sleepin' all day, no gettin my dick licked
Hangin' with the goodie-goodies loungin' in paradise
F*ck that shit, I wanna tote guns and shoot dice
All my life I been considered as the worst
Lyin' to my mother, even stealin' out her purse
Crime after crime, from drugs to extortion
I know my mother wished she got a f*ckin' abortion
She don't even love me like she did when I was younger
Suckin' on her chest just to stop my f*ckin' hunger
I wonder if I died, would tears come to her eyes?
Forgive me for my disrespect, forgive me for my lies
My babies' mothers 8 months, her little sister's 2
Who's to blame for both of them (naw nigga, not you)
I swear to God I just want to slit my wrists and end this bullshit
Throw the Magnum to my head, threaten to pull shit
And squeeze, until the bed's, completely red
I'm glad I'm dead, a worthless f*ckin' buddah head
The stress is buildin' up, I can't,
I can't believe suicide's on my f*ckin' mind
I want to leave, I swear to God I feel like death is f*ckin' callin' me
Naw you wouldn't understand (nigga, talk to me please)
You see its kinda like the crack did to Pookie, in New Jack
Except when I cross over, there ain't no comin' back
Should I die on the train track, like Remo in Beatstreet
People at the funeral frontin' like they miss me
My baby momma kissed me but she glad I'm gone
She knew me and her sista had somethin' goin' on
I reach my peak, I can't speak,
call my nigga Chic, tell him that my will is weak.
I'm sick of niggas lyin', I'm sick of bitches hawkin',
matter of fact, I'm sick of talkin'.
[BANG]
(hey yo big...hey yo big)
Writer: ROBERT A HALL, CHRISTOPHER WALLACE
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Ready to Die is the debut studio album by American rapper The Notorious B.I.G., released on September 13, 1994, by Bad Boy Records and Arista Records. The album features productions by Bad Boy founder Sean "Puffy" Combs, Easy Mo Bee, Chucky Thompson, DJ Premier, and Lord Finesse, among others. It was recorded from 1993 to 1994 at The Hit Factory and D&D Studios in New York City. The partly autobiographical album tells the story of the rapper's experiences as a young criminal, and was the only studio album released during his lifetime, as he was murdered sixteen days before the release of his second album Life After Death in 1997. The album features a sole guest appearance from Wu-Tang Clan member Method Man.
Ready to Die peaked at number 15 on the Billboard 200 and was subject to critical acclaim and soon a commercial success. Three singles were released from the album: "Juicy", "Big Poppa", "One More Chance" and a promotional track of Biggie: "Warning". "Juicy", the lead single, peaked at number 27 on the Billboard Hot 100, number 14 on Hot R&B/Hip-Hop Singles & Tracks and reached number 3 on the Hot Rap Singles. "Big Poppa" was a hit on multiple charts, peaking at number six on the Billboard Hot 100 and also being nominated for a Grammy Award for Best Rap Solo Performance at the 1996 Grammy Awards. The Notorious B.I.G.'s lyrics on the album were generally praised by critics, particularly for his story-telling ability.
In April 2018, Ready to Die was certified 6× Platinum by the Recording Industry Association of America (RIAA). The album was significant for revitalizing the East Coast hip hop scene, amid West Coast hip hop's commercial dominance. It has been ranked by many critics as one of the greatest hip hop albums, as well as one of the greatest albums of all time.
In 2020, the album was ranked 22nd on Rolling Stone's updated list of the 500 Greatest Albums of All Time and was ranked 1st on their list of the 200 Greatest Hip-Hop Albums of All Time. In 2024, the album was selected to the National Recording Registry by the Library of Congress as being "culturally, historically, and/or aesthetically significant".
Performed By:
The Notorious BIGReady to Die peaked at number 15 on the Billboard 200 and was subject to critical acclaim and soon a commercial success. Three singles were released from the album: "Juicy", "Big Poppa", "One More Chance" and a promotional track of Biggie: "Warning". "Juicy", the lead single, peaked at number 27 on the Billboard Hot 100, number 14 on Hot R&B/Hip-Hop Singles & Tracks and reached number 3 on the Hot Rap Singles. "Big Poppa" was a hit on multiple charts, peaking at number six on the Billboard Hot 100 and also being nominated for a Grammy Award for Best Rap Solo Performance at the 1996 Grammy Awards. The Notorious B.I.G.'s lyrics on the album were generally praised by critics, particularly for his story-telling ability.
In April 2018, Ready to Die was certified 6× Platinum by the Recording Industry Association of America (RIAA). The album was significant for revitalizing the East Coast hip hop scene, amid West Coast hip hop's commercial dominance. It has been ranked by many critics as one of the greatest hip hop albums, as well as one of the greatest albums of all time.
In 2020, the album was ranked 22nd on Rolling Stone's updated list of the 500 Greatest Albums of All Time and was ranked 1st on their list of the 200 Greatest Hip-Hop Albums of All Time. In 2024, the album was selected to the National Recording Registry by the Library of Congress as being "culturally, historically, and/or aesthetically significant".
Genre(s): Hip hop, East Coast hip hop
Producer(s): Sean "Puffy" Combs (exec.), Mister Cee (also exec.), Bluez Brothers, DJ Premier, Easy Mo Bee, Rashad Smith, Lord Finesse, Poke, Darnell Scott, Chucky Thompson
Length: 69:05
Released: September 13th, 1994
Year: 1994