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1. |
Going Back To Cali
03:59
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Uhh, when the la-la hits ya lyrics just splits ya
Head so hard, that your hat can't fit you
Either I'm with ya or against ya
Format bent 'cha, back through that maze I sent ya
Talking to the rap inventor
Nigga with the game tight, fifth that flame right
Spell my name right, B-I, double-G, I-E
Iced out, lights out, me and Cease-A-Leo
Getting head from some chick he know
See it's all about the cheddar, nobody do it better
Going back to Cali, strictly for the weather
Women and the weed, sticky green
No seeds bitch please, Poppa ain't soft
Dead up in the hood, ain't no love lost
Got me mixed up, you drunk them licks up
Mad 'cause I got my dick sucked
And my balls licked, forfeit, the game is mine
I'ma spell my name one more time, check it
It's the, N-O, T-O, R-I, O
U-S, you just, lay down, slow
Recognize a real Don when you see one
Sipping on booze in the House of Blues
I'm going going, back back, to Cali Cali (going back to Cali)
I'm going going, back back, to Cali Cali (going back to Cali)
I'm going going, back back, to Cali Cali (going back to Cali)
I'm going going, back back, to Cali Cali (going back to Cali)
If I got to choose a coast I got to choose the East
I live out there, so don't go there
But that don't mean a nigga can't rest in the West
See some nice breast in the West
Smoke some nice sess in the West, y'all niggas is a mess
Thinking I'm gon stop, giving L.A props
All I got is beef with those that violate me
I shall annihilate thee
Case closed, suitcase filled with clothes
Linens and things, I begin things
Beeper start to flash, 818's, 213's
313's, B.I.G
Frequently floss hoes at Roscoe's
If I wanna squirt her, take her to Fatburger
Spend about a week on Venice Beach
Sippin Crist-o, with some freaks from Frisco
I'm going going, back back, to Cali Cali (going back to Cali)
I'm going going, back back, to Cali Cali (going back to Cali)
I'm going going, back back, to Cali Cali (going back to Cali)
I'm going going, back back, to Cali Cali (going back to Cali)
Cali got gunplay, models on the runway
Scream Biggie Biggie gimme One More Chance
I be whipping on the freeway, the NYC way
On the celly-celly with my homeboy Lance
Pass hash from left to right
Only got five blunts left to light, I'm set tonight
Met a bitch at the Versace store
Said she suck it 'til I ain't got no more, only in L.A
Bust on bitches be-lly, rub it in they tummy
Lick it, say it's yummy, then fuck your man
What's your plan, is it to rock the Tri-State?
Almost gold, five Gs a show date
Or do you wanna see about seven digits?
Fuck hoes exquisite, Cali, great place to visit
I'm going going, back back, to Cali Cali (going back to Cali)
I'm going going, back back, to Cali Cali (going back to Cali)
I'm going going, back back, to Cali Cali (going back to Cali)
I'm going going, back back, to Cali Cali (going back to Cali)
I'm going going, back back, to Cali Cali (going back to Cali)
I'm going going, back back, to Cali Cali (going back to Cali)
I'm going going, back back, to Cali Cali (going back to Cali)
I'm going going, back back, to Cali Cali (going back to Cali)
I'm going going, back back, to Cali Cali (going back to Cali)
I'm going going, back back, to Cali Cali (going back to Cali)
I'm going going, back back, to Cali Cali (going back to Cali)
I'm going going, back back, to Cali Cali (going back to Cali)
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2. |
Juicy
04:14
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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
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
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
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3. |
Big Poppa
03:07
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To all the ladies in the place with style and grace
Allow me to lace these lyrical douches, in your bushes
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 (huh)
Mad question askin', blunt passin', music blastin'
But I just can't quit
'Cause 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 sweety 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 fuckin'' players
Jump in the Rover and come over
Tell your friends jump in the GS3, I got the chronic by the tree
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
(How ya livin' Biggie Smalls?)
In mansion and Benz's givin' ends to my friends and it feels stupendous
Tremendous cream, fuck a dollar and a dream
Still tote gats strapped with infrared beams (what?)
Choppin O's, smokin' lye an' Optimo's
Money hoes and clothes all a nigga knows
A foolish pleasure, whatever
I had to find the buried treasure, so grams I had to measure
However living better now, Gucci sweater now
Drop top BM's, I'm the man girlfriend
Honey check it, tell your friends, to get with my friends
And we can be friends, shit we can do this every weekend
Aight? Is that aight with you? Yeah, keep bangin'
Uh, check it out, nine-fo' shit for dat ass
Puff Daddy, Biggie Smalls, Junior M.A.F.I.A, represent baby, baby! Uh
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4. |
Intermission #1
00:45
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5. |
Ten Crack Commandments
02:57
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1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9
It's the ten crack commandments, what?
Nigga can't tell me nothing about this coke
Can't tell me nothing about this crack, this weed, my hustlin' niggas
Niggas on the corner I ain't forget you niggas, my triple beam niggas
I've been in this game for years, it made me an animal
It's rules to this shit, I wrote me a manual
A step-by-step booklet for you to get
Your game on track, not your wig pushed back
Rule Number Uno, never let no one know
How much dough you hold cause you know
The cheddar breed jealousy 'specially
If that man fucked up, get yo' ass stuck up
Number 2, never let 'em know your next move
Don't you know Bad Boys move in silence and violence?
Take it from your highness
I done squeezed mad clips at these cats for their bricks and chips
Number 3, never trust no-bo-dy
Your moms'll set that ass up, properly gassed up
Hoodied and masked up, shit, for that fast buck
She be laying in the bushes to light that ass up
Number 4, I know you heard this before
Never get high on your own supply
Number 5, never sell no crack where you rest at
I don't care if they want a ounce, tell 'em bounce!
Number 6, that goddamn credit? Dead it
You think a crackhead paying you back, shit forget it!
7, this rule is so underrated
Keep your family and business completely separated
Money and blood don't mix like 2 dicks and no bitch
Find yourself in serious shit
Number 8, never keep no weight on you!
Them cats that squeeze your guns can hold jums too
Number 9 shoulda been Number 1 to me,
If you ain't gettin' bagged stay the fuck from police
If niggas think you snitchin' they ain't trying to listen
They be sittin' in your kitchen, waiting to start hittin'
Number 10, a strong word called consignment
Strictly for live men, not for freshmen
If you ain't got the clientele, say "hell no!"
'Cause they gon' want they money rain sleet hail snow
Follow these rules you'll have mad bread to break up
If not, 24 years on the wake up
Slug hit your temple, watch your frame shake up
Caretaker did your makeup, when you passed
Your girl fucked my man Jake up, heard in three weeks
She sniffed a whole half of cake up
Heard she suck a good dick, and can hook a steak up
Gotta go gotta go, more pies to bake up, word up
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6. |
Things Done Changed
03:33
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Remember back in the days when niggas had waves
Cazal shades and corn braids
Pitching pennies, honeys had the high-top jellies
Shooting skelly, motherfuckers was all friendly
Lounging at the barbecues, drinking brews
With the neighborhood crews, hanging on the avenues
Turn your pages to 1993
Niggas is getting smoked, G, believe me
Talk slick, you get your neck slit quick
'Cause real street niggas ain't having that shit
Totin' TECs for rep
Smoking blunts in the project hallways
Shooting dice all day
Waitin' for niggas to step up on some fighting shit
We get hype and shit and start lighting shit
So step away with your fist-fight ways
Motherfucker, this ain't back in the days
But you don't hear me though
No more coco-levio 1, 2, 3
1, 2, 3, all it is to me, is a mystery
I hear you motherfuckers talk about it
But I stay seeing bodies with the motherfucking chalk around it
And I'm down with the shit too
For the stupid motherfuckers want to try to use Kung-Fu
Instead of a MAC-10, he tried scrapping
Slugs in his back and that's what the fuck happens
When you sleep on the street
Little motherfuckers with heat wanna leave a nigga six feet deep
And we coming to the wake
To make sure the crying and commotion ain't a motherfucking fake
Back in the days our parents used to take care of us
Look at 'em now, they even fuckin' scared of us
Calling the city for help because they can't maintain
Damn, shit done changed
If I wasn't in the rap game
I'd probably have a key knee-deep in the crack game
Because the streets is a short stop
Either you're slinging crack rock or you got a wicked jump shot
Shit, it's hard being young from the slums
Eating 5 cent gums, not knowing where your meal's coming from
And now the shit's getting crazier and major
Kids younger than me, they got the Skygrand pagers
Going out of town, blowing up
Six months later, all the dead bodies showing up
It make me wanna grab the 9 and the shotty
But I gotta go identify the body
Damn, what happened to the summertime cookouts
Every time I turn around, a nigga getting took out
Shit, my momma got cancer in her breast
Don't ask me why I'm motherfucking stressed, things done changed
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7. |
Machine Gun Funk
03:40
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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 fuck 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
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 motherfuckin' meet again
Huh, I'm doin' rhymes now, fuck 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
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 motherfuckin' helicopter
That's why I pack a nina, fuck a misdeameanor
Beatin' motherfuckers 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
Making money smoking mics like crack pipes
It's type simple and plain to maintain
I add a little funk to the brain
The funk baby
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8. |
Party & Bullshit
03:47
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I was a terror since the public school era
Bathroom passes, cutting classes, squeezing asses
Smoking blunts was a daily routine
Since thirteen, a chubby nigga on the scene
I used to have the tre' duce
And the duce duce in my bubble-goose
Now I got the mack in my knapsack
Loungin' black, smoking sacks up in acts
And sidekicks with my sidekicks rocking fly kicks
Honeys want to chat
But all we want to know is "where the party at?"
And can I bring my gat?
If not, I hope I don't get shot
Betta throw my vest on my chest
Cause niggas is a mess
It don't take nothin' but frontin'
For me to start somethin'
Buggin' and barkin' at niggas like I was duck huntin'
Dumbing out, just me and my crew
Cause all we want to do is
[Chorus]
Party, and bullshit, and [Repeat: x9]
Hugs from the honeys, pounds from the roughnecks
Seen my man see that I knew from the projects
Said he had beef, asked me if I had my piece
Sure do, two .22's in my shoes
Holler if you need me love I'm in the house
Roam and strollin' see what the honeys is about
Moet popping, hoe hopping, ain't no stopping big poppa, I'm a bad boy
Niggas want to front, who got your back? (biggie!)
Niggas want to flex, who got the gat? (biggie!)
It ain't hard to tell I'm the east coast overdoser
Nigga you scared you're supposed to
Nigga I toast ya, put fear in your heart
Fuck up the party before it even start
Pissy drunk, off the henny and stuff
Or some brand-Nubian shit beatin' down punks!
[Chorus]
Bitches in the back looking righteous
In a tight dress, I think I might just
Hit her with a little biggie 101, how to tote a gun
And have fun with Jamaican rum
Conversations, blunts in rotation
My man big Jacques got the glock in his waist and
We're smoking, drinking, got the hooker thinking
If money smell bad than this nigga biggie stinking
Is it my charm? I got the hookers eating out my palm
She grabbed my arm and said "let's leave calm"
I'm hittin' skins again
Rolled up another blunt, bought a Heineken
Niggas start to loke out, a kid got choked out
Blows was thrown and a fucking fight broke out
Can't we just all get along?
So I can put hickies on her chest like lil' shawn
Get her pissy drunk off of don perrignon
And it's on, and I'm gone
That's that.
Party, and bullshit, (party.)
And party, and bullshit, (bullshit.)
And party, and bullshit, (party.)
And party, and bullshit, (bullshit.)
And party, and bullshit, (yea, junior mafia likes that.)
And party, and bullshit,
And party, and bullshit, (uptown likes that.)
And party, and bullshit,
And party, and bullshit, (bad boy likes that.)
And party, and bullshit,
And party, and bullshit, (brooklyn crew likes that.)
And party, and bullshit,
And party, and bullshit, (third eye likes that.)
And party, and bullshit [Repeats]
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9. |
Who Shot Ya?
03:44
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Who shot ya?
Seperate the weak from the ob-solete
Hard to creep them Brooklyn streets
It's on nigga, fuck all that bickering beef
I can hear sweat trickling down your cheek
Your heartbeat sound like Sasquatch feet
Thundering, shaking the concrete
Finish it, stop, when I foil the plot
Neighbors call the cops said they heard mad shots
Saw me in the drop, three and a quarter
Slaughter, electrical tape around your daughter
Old school new school need to learn though
I burn baby burn like Disco Inferno
Burn slow like blunts with yayo
Peel more skins than Idaho potato
Niggas know, the lyrics molestin' is takin' place
Fuckin' with B.I.G. it ain't safe
I make your skin chafe, rashes on the masses
Bumps and bruises, blunts and Land Cruisers
Big Poppa smash fools, bash fools
Niggas mad because I know that cash rules
Everything around me two Glock 9s
Any motherfucker whispering about mines
And I'm Crooklyn's finest
You rewind this, Bad Boy's behind this
I seen the light excite all the freaks
Stack mad chips, spread love with my peeps
Niggas wanna creep, gotta watch my back
Think the Cognac and indo sack make me slack?
I switches all that, cocksucker G's up
One false move, get Swiss cheesed up
Clip to TEC, respect I demand it
Slip and break the 11th Commandment
Thou shalt not fuck with nor see Poppa
Feel a thousand deaths when I drop ya
I feel for you, like Chaka Khan I'm the don
Pussy when I want, Rolex on the arm
You'll die slow but calm
Recognize my face, so there won't be no mistake
So you know where to tell Jake, lame nigga
Brave nigga, turned front page nigga
Puff Daddy flips daily
I smoke the blunts he sips on the Baileys
On the rocks, tote Glocks at christenings
Hammer cock, in the fire position and
Uhh (check it out) uhh
Diamonds on my neck, chrome drop-top
Chillin' on the scene, smokin' pounds of green
Oooh-wee, you see, the ugliest
Money-hungriest, Brooklyn Loch Ness
Nine millimeter cock test, wan fi' test?
And the winner is
Y'all niggas know the rules
I blast on niggas so
My fist never bruise
Land-still-cruise, Frank White paid his dues
Ask who's the raw, bet they say Poppa very
Look forward to me like commissary
All of a sudden, now every-body Big Willie
Done did it, come widdit, get yo' head splitted
Or get your neck slitted, admit it, you overdid it
Your shit it, just ain't got that loud
Gold tooth shine like taa-dow
Biggie Smalls the illest and how, frays raise your eyebrow
By now you figure, he talkin' 'bout that nigga
But your weak-ass assumptions, lead lead to dumpin'
IV to pump-in, you're feeling something
Catch my drift, or catch my four-fifth lift
At least six inches, above project fences
Turn meat to minces, jumps turn to flinches
When I rain I drenches, cleared your park benches (HAH)
Missed you by pinches (HOO) your talk is senseless (RRUFF)
Actor needs chiropractor (HAH, HOO) for cracked jaw
Yes I rocked your chatterbox (hah)
Dangerous you're not I gets down (HOO)
Twist your body round and round, upside down
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10. |
Think Big Freestyle
01:22
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11. |
Intermission #2
01:01
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12. |
Somebody Gotta Die
04:23
|
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I'm sittin' in the crib dreamin' about Leer jets and coupes
The way Salt shoops and how they sell records like Snoop
Oops! I'm interrupted by a doorbell
3:52, who the hell
Is this?
I gets up quick
Cock my shit
Stop the dogs from barkin'
Then proceed to walkin'
Its a face that I seen before
My nigga Sing, he used to sling on the 16th floor
Check it
I look deeper
I see blood up on his sneakers
And his fist gripped a chrome four-fifth
So I dip
Nigga, is you creepin' or speakin'?
He tells me C-Rock just got hit up at the beacon
I opens up the door, pitiful
Is he in critical?
Retaliation for this one won't be minimal
'Cause I'm a criminal
Way before the rap shit
Bust the gat shit
Puff won't even know what happened,
If it's done smoothly
Silencers on the Uzi
Stash in the hooptie
My alibi, any cutie
With a booty that don't fucked Big Pop
Head spinnin', reminiscin' bout my man C-Rock
Somebody gotta die
If I go, you gotta go
Somebody gotta die
Let the gunshots blow
Somebody gotta die
Nobody gotta know
That I killed yo ass in the mist, kid
Somebody gotta die
If I go, you gotta go
Somebody gotta die
Let the gunshots blow
Somebody gotta die
Nobody gotta know
That I killed yo ass in the mist, kid
Fillin' clips he explained our situation
Precisely, so we know exactly what we facin'
Some kid named Jason
In a Honda station, wagon
Was braggin'
About how much loot and crack he stackin'
Rock had a grip so they formed up a clique
A small crew
'Round the time I was locked up with you
True indeed
But yo nigga let me proceed
Don't fill them clips too high
Give them bullets room to breathe
Damn where was I?
Yeah, run out of town, blew the fuck up
D-Rock went home
And Jay got stuck the fuck up
Hit 'em twice
Caught 'em right for the Persian white
Pistol whipped his kids
And taped up his wife
He figured Rock set em up, no question
Wet em up no less
Than 50 shots in his direction
How many shots?
Man nigga, I seen mad holes
"What kinda gats?"
"Heckler & Koch and Calicos"
But fuck that
I know where all them niggas rest at
In the buildin' hustlin'
And they don't be strapped
Supreme in black
Is downstairs, the engine runnin'
Find a bag to put the guns in
And c'mon if you comin'
Somebody gotta die
If I go, you gotta go
Somebody gotta die
Let the gunshots blow
Somebody gotta die
Nobody gotta know
That I killed yo ass in the mist, kid
Somebody gotta die
If I go, you gotta go
Somebody gotta die
Let the gunshots blow
Somebody gotta die
Nobody gotta know
That I killed yo ass in the mist, kid
Exchanged hugs and pounds before the throw down
How it's gonna go down
Lay these niggas low-down
Slow down
Fuck all that plannin' shit
Run up in they cribs
And make 'em catch the man n shit
See niggas like you do ten year bids
Miss the nigga they want
And murder innocent kids
Not I
One niggas in my eye
That's Jason
Ain't no slugs gonna be wasted
Revenge I'm tastin' at the tip of my lips
I can't wait to feel my clip in his hips
Pass the chocolate
Thai
Sing ain't lie
There's Jason with his back to me
Talkin' to his faculty
I start to get a funny feeling
Put the mask on in case his niggas start squealin'
Scream his name out
Squeeze six knuckles shorter
Nigga turned around holdin' his daughter
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13. |
Dead Wrong
03:54
|
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The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong
The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong
Relax and take notes, while I take tokes of the marijuana smoke
Throw you in a choke, gun smoke, gun smoke
Biggie Smalls for mayor, the rap slayer
The hooker layer, motherfucker say your prayers
Hail Mary full of grace, smack the bitch in the face,
Take her Gucci bag and the North Face
Off her back, jab her if she act
Funny with the money oh you got me mistaken honey
I don't wanna rape ya, I just want the paper
The Visa, kapeesha? I'm out like, "The Vapors"
Who's the one you call Mr. Macho, the head honcho
Swift fist like Camacho, I got so
Much style I should be down wit the Stylistics
Make up to break up niggas need to wake up
Smell the Indonesia, beat you to a seizure
Then fuck your moms, hit the skins til amnesia
She don't remember shit! Just the two hits!
Her hittin' the floor, and me hittin' the clits!
Suckin' on the tits! Had the hooker beggin' for the dick
And your moms ain't ugly love, my dick got rock quick
I guess I was a combination of House of Pain and Bobby Brown
I was "Humpin' Around" and "Jump-in Around"
Jacked her then I asked her who's the man, she said, "B-I-G"
Then I bust in her E-Y-E (Yo Big, you're dead wrong)
"I don't care what nobody say"
"I don't care what nobody say"
"I don't care what nobody say"
"I don't care what nobody say"
The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong
The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong
The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong
The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wron
When I get dusted, I like to spread the blood like mustard
Trust it, my hardcore rain leaves you rusted
Move over Lucifer, I'm more ruthless, huh
Leave your toothless, you'll kibbitz, I'll flip it
Tears don't affect me, I hit 'em with the tech G
Disrespect me, my potency is deadly
I'm shootin' babies, no ifs ands or maybes
Hit mummy in the tummy if the hooker plays a dummy
Slit the wrist of little sis
After she sucked the dick, I stabbed her brother with the icepick
Because he wanted me to fuck him from the back
But Smalls don't get down like that
Got your father hidin' in a room, fucked him with the broom
Slit him down the back and threw salt in the wound
Who you think you're dealin' with?
Anybody step into my path is fuckin' feelin' it!
Hardcore, I got it sucked like a pussy
Stab ya til you're gushy, so please don't push me
I'm using rubbers so they won't trace the semen
The black demon, got the little hookers screamin'
Because you know I love it young, fresh and green
With no hair in between, know what I mean?
"I don't care what nobody say"
"I don't care what nobody say"
"I don't care what nobody say"
"I don't care what nobody say"
The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong
The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong
The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong
The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong
Ladies and gentlemen
There's several different levels to Devil worshippin' horse's heads,
Human sacrifices, cannibalism, candles and exorcism
Animals havin' sex with 'em, camels mammals and rabbits
But I don't get into that, I kick the habit - I just,
Beat you to death with weapons that eat through the flesh
And I never eat you unless the fuckin', meat looks fresh
I got a lion in my pocket, I'm lyin', I got a nine in my pocket
And baby I'm just, dyin' to cock him
He's ready for war, I'm ready for war
I got machetes and swords for any fagot that said he was raw
My uz' as, heavy as yours, yeah you met me before
I just didn't have as large an arsenal of weapons before
Marshall will step in the door, I lay your head on the floor
With your body spread on the bedspread, red on the wall
Red on the ceilin', red on the floor, get a new whore
Met on the second, wet on the third,
Then she's dead on the fourth - I'm dead wrong
"I don't care what nobody say"
"I don't care what nobody say"
"I don't care what nobody say"
"I don't care what nobody say"
The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong
The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong
The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong
The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong
The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong
The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong
The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong
The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong
Uh-huh, and we won't stop, because we can't stop
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14. |
Suicidal Thoughts
03:53
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When I die, fuck it, I wanna go to hell
'Cause I'm a piece of shit, it ain't hard to fuckin' tell
It don't make sense, goin' to heaven with the goodie-goodies
Dressed in white, I like black Timbs and black hoodies
God'll prob'ly have me on some real strict shit
No sleepin' all day, no gettin' my dick licked
Hangin' with the goodie-goodies, loungin' in paradise
Fuck that shit, I wanna tote guns and shoot dice (You talkin' some crazy shit now, nigga)
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 wish she got a fuckin' abortion
She don't even love me like she did when I was younger (Get a hold of yourself, nigga!)
Suckin' on her chest just to stop my fuckin' hunger
I wonder, if I died, would tears come to her eyes?
Forgive me for my disrespect, forgive me for my lies
My baby mother's eight months, her little sister's two
Who's to blame for both of them? (Nah, nigga, not you)
I swear to God I want to just slit my wrists and end this bullshit
Throw the Magnum to my head, threaten to pull shit (Nigga, what the fuck?)
And squeeze until the bed's completely red (It's too late for this shit, man)
I'm glad I'm dead, a worthless fuckin' buddha head
The stress is buildin' up, I can't— I can't believe (Yo, I'm on my way over there, man)
Suicide's on my fuckin' mind, I wanna leave
I swear to God I feel like death is fuckin' callin' me
But nah, you wouldn't understand (Nigga, talk to me please, man!)
You see it's kinda like the crack did to Pookie in New Jack
Except when I cross over, there ain't no comin' back (Yo, I'ma call you when I get in the car)
Should I die on the train track like Ramo in Beat Street
People at the funeral frontin' like they miss me (Ayo, where your girl at, man?)
My baby mama kiss me, but she glad I'm gone (Yo, put your girl on the phone, nigga!)
She know me and her sister had somethin' goin' on
I reach my peak, I can't speak (Ayo, you listenin' to me, motherfucker?)
Call my nigga Chic, tell him that my will is weak (Ayo, c'mon, nigga)
I'm sick of niggas lyin', I'm sick of bitches hawkin'
Matter of fact, I'm sick of talkin'
(Ayo Big! Ayo Big!)
Please hang up, and try your call again
Please hang up, this is a recording
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