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Lyrics:
Who the fuck is this? Pagin' me at 5:46 In the mornin', crack of dawn an' Now I'm yawnin', wipe the cold out my eye See who's this pagin' me and why
It's my man Pop from the barbershop Told me he was in the gamblin' spot and heard the intricate plot Some people wanna stick me like flypaper neighbor Slow down love, please chill, drop the caper
Remember all you people from the hill up in Brownsville? That you rolled dice wit, smoked the blunts and got nice wit Yeah, little Fame up in Prospect Nah they're my people, nah love wouldn't disrespect
I didn't say them, they schooled me to some types That you knew from back when when you was clockin' minor figures Now they heard you blowin' up like nitro And they wanna stick the knife through your windpipe slow So thank Fame for warnin' me 'cause I'm warnin' you I got the mac Biggie tell me what you gonna do?
Damn, why they wanna stick me for my paper (4x)
They heard about the Rolex's and the Lexus With the Texas license plates outta state They heard about the pounds you got down in Georgetown And they heard you got half of Virginia locked down
They even heard about the crib you bought your moms out in Florida The fifth corridor call the Coroner There's gonna be a lot of slow singin' and flower bringin' If my burglar alarm starts ringin'
What 'cha think all the guns is for? All purpose war, got the Rottweilers by the door And I feed 'em gunpowder, so they can devour The criminals, tryin' to drop my decimals
Damn, niggaz wanna stick me for my cream And it ain't a dream, things ain't always what it seem It's the ones that smoke blunts wit'cha, see your picture Now they wanna grab the guns and come and getcha
Betcha Biggie won't slip I got the Calico with the black talons loaded in the clip So I can rip through the ligaments Put the bodies in a bad predicament, where all the foul people went
Touch my cheddar, feel my Beretta Buck what I'ma hit you with you motherfuckers betta duck I bring pain, bloodstains on what remains Of his jacket he had a gun he shoulda packed it
Cocked it, extra clips in my pocket So I can reload and explode on ya asshole I mess around and get hardcore C-4 to 'ya door - no beef no more ass
Feel the rough, scandalous The more weed smoke I puff, the more dangerous I don't give a damn about you or your weak crew What you gonna do when Big Poppa comes for you? I'm not runnin', chump, I bust my gun an' Hold on, I hear somebody comin'
Come on n****, I'm only comin' to pass the gat Just bring your mother*** *** on, come on Are we gettin' close, huh? It's right over here Are you sure this Biggie Smalls crib man? Yeah I'm sure mother***, c'mon
Ah fuck it better be his mother*** house F*** right here, this better be this mother*** house Oh s***, what, what's wrong? It's that red dot on your head man What red dot? Oh s***, you got a red dot on your head too, oh s***
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