Who the fuck is this? Paging me at 5: 46 In the morning, crack of dawn and Now I'm yawning, wipe the cold out my eye See who's this paging me and why? It's my BLEEP, Pop, from the barbershop Told me he was in the gambling spot and heard the intricate plot Of BLEEP wanna stick me like flypaper, neighbor Slow down love, please chill, drop the caper Remember them BLEEP from the hill up in Brownsville That you rolled dice with, smoked blunts and got nice with? Yeah my BLEEP Fame up in Prospect Nah them my BLEEP nah love wouldn't disrespect I didn't say them, they schooled me to some BLEEP That you knew from back when, when you was clocking minor figures Now they heard you're blowing up like nitro And they wanna stick the knife through your windpipe slow So, thank Fame for warning me 'cause now I'm warning you I got the MAC, BLEEP tell me what you gonna do Damn, BLEEP wanna stick me for my paper
They heard about the Rolex's and the Lexus With the Texas license plate out of 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 Frank, call the coroner! There's gonna be a lot of slow singing and flower bringing If my burglar alarm starts ringing What ya 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 trying to drop my decimals Damn, BLEEP 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 with ya, see your picture Now they wanna grab they guns and come and get ya Bet ya Biggie won't slip I got the Calico with the Talons loaded in the clip So I can rip through the ligaments Put the fuckers in a bad predicament, where all the foul BLEEP went Touch my Cheddar, feel my Beretta Buck! What I'ma hit you with you motherfuckers better 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 your asshole I fuck around and get hardcore C-4 to your door, no beef no more BLEEP Feel the rough, scandalous The more weed smoke I puff, the more dangerous I don't give a fuck about you or your weak crew What you gonna do when Big Poppa comes for you? I'm not running, BLEEP I bust my gun and Hold on, I hear somebody coming I'm only cornin' to pass the gat (Just bring your motherfuckin' ass on, come on) Are we gettin' close, huh? (It's right over here) Are you sure this MC Large's crib man? (Yeah I'm sure motherfucker, c'mon!) Ahh fuck, it better be his motherfuckin' house Fuck right here This better be this motherfucker's house (Oh shit!) What, what's wrong? (What's that red dot on your head man!) What red dot? Oh shit! You got a red dot on your head too! Ohh shit!Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
