Оригинален текст
VERSE 1
I heard a rumor in the street, muth*fka was gifted
Up and comin nigg*, might need to get with
One cat from BK, put him on your hitlist
Sauce Money, fat nigg* rip s**t
Heard him on a Clue? tape, loved the way he kicked it
All of a sudden mad labels on his d*ck
But muth*fkas who bit it but couldn't fight it forget it
Couldn't write it or spit it cause they couldn't fk with it
Then the Puff s**t happened, the whole s**t shifted
Tribute to Biggie, God bless your spirit
Made a mark, now we need a place for the nigg*
Marcy, son - faced off with Jigga
Now he only spittin for cars that's kitted
Convicted felons and muth*fkas acquitted
Never for foul snitches, but those who style riches
Ghetto crack sellin pros and buckwild girls
First thing they wanna know: what's fkin with this s**t?
Jay-Z told em, look how many he sold em
'99's my time to shine and control em
Spread ones with sons, guns, I still hold em
fk the law, this is what's in store
When the album drop, we gon' rush the floor
I tell em hit it, every song, come on, we all spit it
Get on with it, with all my screamin, "We did it"
CHORUS
Love and war, thugs and wh*res
Nickel-plated nines, three-pound-sevens and four-fours
We about to flow, blow, stack dough
On the low, forever shine, better know
VERSE 2
They call me money-earner, received more blows than Tina Turner
Like the top of the stove Sauce keep a burner
Release somethin that'll heat your sternum
Flow the sickest, take a AIDS patient a whole week to learn em
So precise, got beef with surgeons
Feel naked without profanity, every sentence keep a curse in
Nothin is bound to touchin my sound
The consensus in the street: he ain't fkin around
Got a lot of s**t to pop, two things when it drop:
muth*fkas gonna cop and will get shot
But this is just for the record, though
will get naked slow
If your heat c*cked, check it, yo
No s**t, squeeze till your hammer go click
fk these lame-brawl MC's, they all blow d*ck
I'm the capital S-a-u-c-e
Better clap at the best way when you see me
nigg*
CHORUS