Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Junior M.A.F.I.A.
Performer
Doug E. Fresh
Performer
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
D. Davies
Songwriter
Little Ceaser
Songwriter
Little Kim
Songwriter
The Notorious B.I.G.
Songwriter
R.Walters
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Rich Dominica
Engineer
DJ Clark Kent
Producer
Tony Somalios
Mixing Engineer
Rich Herrera
Engineer
Lyrics
[Verse 1]
****, uh
Bitches, uh
(****) Grab your dicks if you love hip-hop
(Bitches) Rub your titties if you love Big Poppa
Gotcha, open off the words I say because
(This type of shit, it happens everyday)
[Verse 2]
Now who smoke more blunts than a little bit?
What are you a idiot?
Listen to the lyrics I spit like M1's
Got mad guns up in the cabin
'Cause Cease ain't the one for the dippin' and dabbin' shit
I make it happen, you got your ass caught
All you saw was fire, from the Honda Passport
Or the MP, what if you see, then I miss ya
I blow up spots like little sisters
G'wan grit ya teeth, g'wan bite ya nails to the cuticles
Like Murray, my killings be the most beautiful
Junior M.A.F.I.A. clique thick like Luke dancers
****, grab your gats, bitches, take a glance at
The little one, pullin' over in the Land Rover
Playin Big Willie style with a chauffeur, ya nah mean?
Stack the green, read all between the lines
A **** act up, makes the bastard hard to find
[Verse 3]
(****) Grab your dicks if you love hip-hop
(Bitches) Rub your titties if you love Big Poppa
Gotcha, open off the words I say because
(This type of shit it happens everyday)
(****) Grab your dick if you love hip-hop
(Bitches) Rub your titties if you love Big Poppa
Gotcha, open off the words I say because
(This type of shit, it happens everyday)
[Verse 4]
(How ya livin' Biggie Smalls?) I'm surrounded by criminals
Heavy rollers, even the sheisty individuals
Smokin' skunk and mad Phillies
Beatin down Billy Badasses, cracks in stacks and masses
If robbery's a class, bet I pass it
Shit get drastic, I'm buryin' ya bastards
Big Poppa never softenin'
Take you to the church, rob the preacher for the offerin'
Leave the fucker coughin' up blood, and his pockets like rabbit ears
Covet the wife, Kleenex for the kid's tears
Versace wear, Moschino on my bitches
She whippin' my ride, countin' my one's, thinkin' I'm richest
Just the way players play, all day everyday
I don't know what else to say
[Verse 5]
I've been robbin' **** since Run and them was singin', Here We Go
Snatchin' ropes at the Roxy, homeboy, you didn't know my flow?
Detrimental to your health
Usually roll for self, I have son ridin' shotgun
My mind's my nine, my pen's my Mac ten
My target, all you wack **** who started rappin'
Junior M.A.F.I.A. steelo, **** know the half
Caviar for breakfast, champagne bubble baths
Runnin' up in pretty bitches constantly
The Smalls, bitch, who the fuck it was supposed to be?
[Verse 6]
(****) Grab your dicks if you love hip-hop
(Bitches) Rub your titties if you love Big Poppa
Gotcha, open off the words I say because
(This type of shit, it happens everyday)
(****) Grab your dicks if you love hip-hop
(Bitches) Rub your titties if you love Big Poppa
Gotcha, open off the words I say because
(This type of shit, it happens everyday)
[Verse 7]
I used to pack Macs in Cadillacs
Now I pimp gats in the act's, watch my **** backs
Nines in the stores, Glocks in the bags
Maxin' mini-markets, gettin money with the Arabs
No question, confession, yes, it's the lyrical
Bitches, squeeze your tits, ****, grab your genitals
Proteins and minerals, exclude subliminals
Big Momma shoots the game to all you Willies and criminals
I kick the rilli' with my peeps all day
325's roll by with the windows down halfway
DKNY, oh my, I'm jiggy
It's all about the Smalls and my fuckin' ****, Biggie
Bitches love the way I bust a rhyme
'Cause they all in line, screamin' one more time
****, grab your dicks if you love hip-hop
Bitches rub-a-dub in the back of the club, straight up
Written by: D. Davies, Little Ceaser, Little Kim, R.Walters, The Notorious B.I.G.