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[Intro] |
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Chill Twan, damn man! |
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That nigga Big got somethin to say? |
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Yo Big, what'chu got to say Big? |
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[Notorious B.I.G.] |
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Yeah... yeah... |
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Special shoutout to my man |
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MC Homicide and DJ Fatal |
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Twin one and two my man Milk |
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My man Fred Dawg, the O.G.B. crew |
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Y'all know how we flow |
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And I'ma drop it like this y'all |
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Oh what a feeling! Drivin in my four by four |
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Girlies galore, B.I.G. on the door |
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Chrome trimming, with the smoke tint |
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Givin chumps a hit, as I count my mint |
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Stacks of doves, half my mans is C-note |
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All from sayin rhymes that B.I.G. wrote |
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Blunt, I take a toke, but only if it's weed |
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Skunk with no seeds, a sip of Hennessy |
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Pass to D, or maybe movin solo |
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Never with a skeezer by my side, that's a no-no |
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Tell me I ain't the flyest nigga that you ever saw |
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Live in action, guaranteed RAW~! |
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"Who's coming through? Y'all know who!" |
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Bed-Stuy Brooklyn where this rapper was originated |
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Your rhymes ain't shit; they must be constipated |
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Many awaited, the heavyset brother from Fulton Street |
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To drop a rhyme to a funky beat |
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Expellin MC's as if I was at Sarah J |
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Or boys and girls at any school around the way |
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Opponents, pupils, but I'm the principal |
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Hard to beat, damn near invincible |
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Niggaz wanna know, how I live the mack life |
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Makin money smokin mics like crack pipes |
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Flippin bombs, stayin calm, givin my people my palm |
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And sayin rhymes to set off the alarm! |
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Yes it's me, the B.I.G. |
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Competition ripper ever since 13 |
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Used to steal clothes was considered a thief |
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Until I started hustlin on Fulton Street |
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Makin loot, knockin boots on the regular |
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Pass the microphone I'm the perfect competitor |
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Jewels and all that, my clothes is all that |
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Chumps steppin to me, that's where they took a FALL at! |
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B.I.G. without burner, that's unheard of |
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I stay close to mine like Tina on Turner |
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Quick to smother, a punk motherfucker |
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Undercover, word to mother, I'm above ya |
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And I love ya, cause you're a sweet bitch |
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A crazy crab, you might make my dick itch |
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I flow looser than Luther, words ya get used ta |
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B.I.G. is a born, trooper |
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Like ice cream I scoop ya, my music you wanna get loose ta |
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Stay pimp, and I'm not a booster |
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So what'cha got to say? This mackin word is bond |
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There's no other assumption, I got it goin on |
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I'm not conceited, my friends tell me this |
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Even my mother, be noddin her head to this |
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Makes her proud to see her one son get loud |
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Flip on a sucker, and bow to the crowd |
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Drink a little Hennessy, smoke a blunt or 2 or 3 or 4 |
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Live in action, guaranteed RAW |
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Round two the rhyme regulator here to roast ya |
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As ya follow this yeah, I gave a toast to ya crew |
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See, they popped on ya like a kernel |
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You didn't realize that the beef was eternal |
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Internal injury that's what you're soon to see |
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B.I.G. keep company |
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Sometimes in my waist, if they come opponent |
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Run upstairs, change my skimmer and my coat and |
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I'm floatin, to your punk part of town |
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Anybody frontin, they better duck down |
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Don't get mad cause I grazed ya |
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You jumped in that 4-door Blazer, quick I couldn't get a good hit |
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Shit, I was aimin for the melon |
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But the kick of my three-pound auto there's no tellin |
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Drink a little Hennessy, smoke a blunt or 2 or 3 or 4 |
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Live in action, guaranteed RAW |
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And you don't stop, and you don't stop |
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You keep on |
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To my man Milk, and Thai |
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Like I said before the whole O.G.B. is in full effect |
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[Outro] |
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Most definitely |
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Sent a shout on |
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To the freestyle Born Allah |
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Yeah that bum-ass nigga from Avenue Q |
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(Yeah yeah) |
