Оригинален текст
Yeah. Motherfkers better know... huh, huh. Lock your windows,
close your doors. Biggie Smalls, huh...yeah.
Verse One:
My man Inf left a Tec and a nine at my crib
Turned himself in, he had to do a bid
A one-to-three, he be home the end of '93
I'm ready to get this paper, G, you with me?
Motherfking right, my pocket's looking kind of tight
and I'm stressed, yo Biggie let me get the vest
No need for that, just grab the fking gat
The first pocket that's fat the Tec is to his back
Word is bond, I'm a smoke him yo don't fake no moves (what?)
Treat it like boxing: stick and move, stick and move
nigg*, you ain't got to explain s**t
I've been robbin motherfkers since the slave ships
with the same clip and the same four-five
Two point-blank, a motherfker's sure to die
That's my word, nigg* even try to bogart
have his mother singing "It's so hard..."
Yes, love love you're fking attitude
because the nigg* play p*ssy that's the nigg* that's getting screwed
and bruised up from the pistol whipping
webs on the neck from the necklace stripping
Then I'm dipping up the block and I'm robbing girls too
up the herring bones and bamboos
I wouldn't give fk if you're pregnant
Give me the baby rings and a #1 MOM pendant
I'm slamming like Shaquille, s**t is real
When it's time to eat a meal I rob and steal
'cos Mom Duke ain't giving me s**t
so for the bread and butter I leave in the gutter
Huh, word to mother, I'm dangerous
Crazier than a bag of fking Angel Dust
When I bust my gat motherfkers take dirt naps
I'm all that and a dime sack, where the paper at?
Verse Two:
Big up, big up, it's a stick up, stick up
and I'm shooting quick if you hiccup
Don't let me fill my clip up in your back and head piece
The opposite of peace sending Mom Duke a wreath
You're talking to the robbery expert
Stepping to your wake with your blood on my shirt
Don't be a jerk and get smoked over being resistant
'cos when I lick shots the is persistent
Huh, goodness gracious the papers
Where the cash at? Where the stash at?
nigg*, pass that before you get your grave dug
from the main thug, .357 slug
And my nigg* Biggie got an itchy one grip
One in the chamber, 32 in the clip
Motherfkers better strip, yeah nigg* peel
before you find out how blue steel feel
from the Beretta, putting all the holes in your sweater
The money getter motherfkers don't have better
Rolex watches and colourful Swatches
I'm digging in pockets, motherfkers can't stop it
Man, come through I'm taking high school rings too
girls get strangled for they earrings and bangles
and when I rock her and drop her I'm taking her door knockers
And if she's resistant "baka! baka! baka!"
So go get your man b*tch he can get robbed too
Tell him Biggie took it, what the fk he gonna do?
I hope apologetic or I'm a have to set it
and if I set it the won't forget it
Verse Three:
Man, listen all this walking is hurting my feet
But money looks sweet (where at?) in the Isuzu jeep
Man, I throw him in the Beem, you grab the fking C.R.E.A.M
and if he start to scream "bam! bam!", have a nice dream
Hold up, he got a fking b*tch in the car
Fur coats and diamonds, she thinks she a superstar
Ooh Biggie, let me jack her, I kick her in the back
Hit her with the gat...
Yo chill, Shorty, let me do that...
Just get the fking car keys and cruise up the block
The b*tch act shocked, gettin shot on the spot
(Oh s**t! The cops!) Be cool, fool
They ain't gonna roll up, all they want is fking doughnuts
(So why the fk he keep lookin?) I guess to get his life tooken
I just came home, ain't trying to see Central Booking
Oh s**t, now he lookin in my face
You better haul as* 'cos I ain't with no fking chase
So lace up your boots, 'cos I'm about to shoot
A true motherfker going out for the loot