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