Live Bedford-Stuyvesant, the livest one Representing BK to the Gats I it, bastards ducking when Big be bucking Chickenheads be clucking in my bathroom It ain't nothing, know Big be handling With the mac in the Ac' door Damagin MC's, oxygen they breathe Mad up the sleeve, wear boxers so my dick can breathe Breeze through in the Q-45 by my side, lyrical And that rushes my clutches get put on crutches Get smoked dutches from the master Hate to blast you, but I have to, you see I a lot Your life is played out like Kwame, and them fucking polka Who rock the spot? You how the weed go, unbelievable
B-I-G, G-I-E, AKA, B.I.G Get it? Also as the bon appetit Rappers sleep need sleeping Big keep creeping Bullets heat-seeking, casualties treating Dumb need teaching A - don't fuck 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 hundred and fifty-seven ways To saute, I'm the winner all day get dimmer down Biggie's hallway My causes Caucasians to say He demented, car weed scented If I said it, I it Bite my for no-one me evil, or unbelievable
Buck shots out the sun roof of Lexus no witnesses, what you think this is? Ain't no amateurs here, I and tear fear me, they too near not to hear me Clearly, I'm the triple dream One thousand grams of to the gut It seems fucked up, the way I touched up the Trying to gorilla, when you ain't no killer The by your liver, your upper lip quiver Get ready to die, tell God I hi And throw down ice, for the nicest MC know the steelo, unbelievable