|
作词 : Carter, Combs, Gaither ... |
|
Intro: Biggie |
|
Uhh, check it out, uhh |
|
*singing* I steps in where the Mo's and the hoes at bay-bee! |
|
************* all that pretty *************t |
|
Takin it back to the gutter for you mother*******s |
|
*************z know the deal |
|
*************z know who the Don is |
|
Live from Bedford-Stuyvesant, the livest one |
|
Peep game, uhh, what, what |
|
Verse One: Puff Daddy |
|
Out of this world like Mars, when I spit these bars |
|
Come ************* with these stars up in luxury cars |
|
We built them radars to stay free from the cops |
|
Crucial choices to make, like A-C or the drop |
|
Are we gonna stop? *************t man never my squad go broke |
|
Your squad arti-choke |
|
Watch your circle vanish like cigar smoke |
|
Ain't no joke, when your ones don't show |
|
************* I know, might say 'Been There Done That' like Dre |
|
Through hard work I earn the vault |
|
Promise God to never look back or I turn to salt |
|
Got nice watches nice cars nice ******* and rings |
|
Guess it's safe to say a ************* like me got nice things |
|
Can't relate to mother*******s, who ain't go no cake |
|
When you all ****** up, and can't get no break |
|
When your fake ass friends, don't help you out when you need it |
|
Be on some real bull*************t, politely tell you to beat it |
|
************* that, get your own *************, don't ask me for *************t |
|
That's what I did, now they all askin for hits |
|
************* it's on for the simple fact I let it be known |
|
We still fly but seperately cause now I, charter my own |
|
Propellers, Goodfellas, leave all them playa haters jealous |
|
Billboard charts should tell us, they can't touch us |
|
Why *************z bring the ruckus? |
|
Because release day is bigger than Mandela's, mother*******s |
|
Chorus: |
|
Just some ghetto boys |
|
Living in these ghetto streets |
|
-- these ghetto streets |
|
And everyday they gotta |
|
fight to stay alive |
|
It's just reality |
|
Verse Two: Jay-Z |
|
Yeah, make you a deal, check |
|
These here's the dog years and mother*******s don't shed |
|
I try to bring you life but mother*******s want dead |
|
So I travel with the babble, with the chrome, with the lead |
|
Cause when it's on, then it's on, the shots flowin through your head |
|
I been rich I been poor I saved and blown bread |
|
Some say I been here before because of the way I zone |
|
Some said, Jigga zone is like the fallin of Rome |
|
Reoccuring, that he thinks like that cause he's observing |
|
Won't be known until I'm gone and *************z study my bones |
|
Mentally been many places, but I'm Brooklyn's own |
|
In the physical, onee seems, like a lost body |
|
In fact my thoughts don't differ much from that of God body |
|
But it's the odd shottie, that got cats, likening me |
|
to the mob John Gotti, rap dudes bitin me cause |
|
I got it locked like the late Bob Marley |
|
Pardon me y'all, the great Bob Marley |
|
Solemnly we mourn, all the rappers that's gone |
|
*************z that got killed in the field and all the babies born |
|
Know they ain't fully prepared for this New World Order |
|
So I keep it ghetto like sunflower seeds and quarter waters |
|
You walk em through it, you know, talk em through it |
|
Know these beads is more than music whenever I talk to it |
|
Destined for greatness and y'all knew this, when I doubled the pie |
|
Had a shorty and a girdle comin out of B-W-I (in school) |
|
I hated algebra but I loved to multiply |
|
And I told my ************* Big I'd be multi before I die |
|
It's gonna happen whether rappin or clappin have it your way |
|
Cause if that's my dough you're trappin, I'm clappin your way |
|
Chorus |
|
Verse Three: Notorious B.I.G. |
|
Damn it feel good to see people up on it |
|
Flipped two keys in two weeks and didn't flaunt it |
|
My brain is haunted, with mean dreams |
|
GS's with BB's on it, supreme schemes, to get Richer |
|
than Richie, quickly, *************z wanna hit me |
|
If they get me, dress my body in linen by Armani, check it |
|
My lyrical carjack, make your brains splat |
|
High caliber gats is all I ************* with, now peep the rough *************t |
|
in my circumfrence, mad *******, with mad lucci |
|
Bulletproof vestes under they coochie |
|
Spittin my uzi, don't lose me, my trigga *************z represent |
|
Drivin dirty in J-30's gettin bent |
|
And to my hit hoes, my murder mommies |
|
I be smokin trees in Belize when they find me |
|
While you still killin *************z with punany, like heiny |
|
and Cyrus up in Cypress ************* you raw you on the floor with the virus |
|
While I just, slang coke, smoke pounds to choke |
|
Got lawyers watchin lawyers so I won't go broke, now check it |
|
Them country *************z call me Frank White |
|
I'm squirtin off in my loft of course I know my *************t's tight |
|
Sunrise open my eyes no surprise |
|
Got my shorty flyin in with keys taped to her thighs |
|
With all the utensils, who hang my china thing |
|
She half black half oriental eighty-six she got me rental |
|
The situation ain't accidental.. |
|
What? From a, from a young G's perspective.. (repeat 2X) |
|
Chorus 2X to fade |