Some Junior Mafia shit right here
We just gonna set it off
We's know the deal
This shit is real
On this end, uh
Shit is real on this end
No friends, J-M
(Shit it real on this end)
Shit is real on this end
(Shit is real on this end)
No friends, J-M
One: Got into my mind
Shit is smoked up, my sight is blind
C*** back the nine,
Cuz I might not like what I find
Murders I seen, killer fiend
Through the endosheen
Mean burst into flying milloteen
Into see I sit, till I'm rit
I use the gun and slip exhale
Hollow tits
Rub my pointer angle
This must be the devil's triangle
Confused, so I mangle
Demons I had to strangle
Profession hit man,
And so they guns
Multi clips
I grab my gats
Got go back and let him pull it
Two: I said I'm rough a real bitch
Nigga, you better back up
With the four-four devid loaded
So motherfuckers slack up
I shit the raps and craps
Give me my snaps
Bitches wanting the claps
Cuz I'm leaving them with fucking gats
I write rhymes, the gay mind
The maintain mind
The rag around my head is for the gang sign
So with the bottom lick the sha body shody
Fear nobody at less catch fucking bodies
On all you bitches, gang-bangers, snitches
I get so fucked up I don't know
Which, which, is which is
Loss need a part of me
Trifling and stifling
Mc's on they ass
Two snakes in the fucking grass, nigga
Interlude: Do you know what time is is?
No friends, J-M
(What you want?)
Yo keys, G-S 3's, the papes
Busing in bitches
Making imperionts late
Cleaning out cribs
Coke crums off the plate
Niggas real protctive
Young G's Perspective
(What you want?)
The keys, G-S 3's, the papes
Busing in bitches
Making impirionts late
Cleaning out cribs
Coke crums off the plate
Niggas real protctive
Young G's Perspective
Three: (Lost)
The dirty nigga, trigger
Fuck the looking good shit
I rather grab my gat
And c*** bullshit
Heat I keep
When I creep
Using to sneak into leting kept treck
And count them greens
A nigga drops
I wish it was the cops
Shit is hot
The motherfucking block, lock
Four: Wicked creator
Life eliminator
Continue to sinue
Murders on a menu
Which get in you
Meet the boom on the stab
On blood harvester tomb
Catch a body ever full moon
Mc's with temptaion
They're part, afixiation
Snake relation
Like proper damn nation
Since birth
On this scortched dirt
Badness with the lyricals
Pocket full of miricles
I'm sick, and sick of being tired
Ain't a soul I fear
Too tired to care
And sunwise
To let my tepature rise
Eagle eyes
Don't believe in me
Believe your eyes
Should I cry?
Cuz I wet a nigga then he die
So c*** my lie roll up and get high
(What you want?)
The keys, G-S 3's, the papes
Busing in bitches
Making imperionts late
Cleaning out cribs
Coke crums off the plate
Niggas real protctive
Young G's Perspective
The keys, G-S 3's, the papes
Busing in bitches
Making impirionts late
Cleaning out cribs
Coke crums off the plate
Niggas real protctive
Young G's Perspective
Five: How cause dirty bodies and blood clots
Very busses and buck shots
C*** gluts and run the block
Niggas in they clean they clucks
Niggas can see me nuts
Let it get hot
Murder mo niggas and gotta load of reps
She think mets and cot
Because I only get drastic
Christopher George Latore Wallace (May 21, 1972 – March 9, 1997), also known as Biggie Smalls (after a stylish gangster in 1975’s Let’s Do it Again) and Frank White (from the film King of New York), but best known as The Notorious B.I.G. (Business Instead of Game and, since his death, Books Instead of Guns), was a popular Brooklyn-born rapper of the mid-1990s.
His career was overshadowed by the Bad Boy/Death Row Records feud during his life, but following his untimely death in 1997, The Notorious B. ... selengkapnya