Live Bedford-Stuyvesant, the livest one Representing BK to the I pull it, bastards ducking when Big be bucking Chickenheads be clucking in my fucking It ain't nothing, they Big be handling With the mac in the Ac' door Damagin MC's, oxygen they breathe Mad tricks up the sleeve, wear boxers so my can breathe Breeze through in the Q-45 by my side, lyrical And those that my clutches get put on crutches Get smoked like dutches the master Hate to blast you, but I have to, you see I a lot Your life is played out like Kwame, and fucking polka dots Who rock the spot? You know how the weed go,
B-I-G, G-I-E, AKA, B.I.G Get it? Also as the bon appetit Rappers can't sleep need sleeping Big keep Bullets heat-seeking, casualties treating Dumb rappers need Lesson A - don't with B-I, that's that Oh I, thought he was wack. Oh come now Why y'all so dumb now - me or be hunted I got three hundred and ways To simmer saute, I'm the all day Lights get dimmer Biggie's hallway My causes Caucasians to say He sounds demented, car weed If I said it, I it Bite my for no-one Call me evil, or
Buck shots out the sun roof of Coupes no witnesses, what you think this is? Ain't no here, I damage and tear MC's fear me, too near not to hear me Clearly, I'm the triple dream One grams of uncut to the gut It fucked up, the way I touched up the grill Trying to gorilla, when you ain't no killer The gat's by liver, your upper lip quiver Get to die, tell God I said hi And throw some ice, for the nicest MC know the steelo, unbelievable