Featured In

Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
The Notorious B.I.G.
The Notorious B.I.G.
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
The Notorious B.I.G.
The Notorious B.I.G.
Songwriter
Chris Martin
Chris Martin
Songwriter
R. Kelly
R. Kelly
Songwriter
Christopher Wallace
Christopher Wallace
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
The Notorious B.I.G.
The Notorious B.I.G.
Executive Producer
Conrad Dimanche
Conrad Dimanche
Associate Producer
Eddie Sancho
Eddie Sancho
Mixing Engineer
DJ Premier
DJ Premier
Producer
Norty Cotto
Norty Cotto
Recording Engineer
Mr. Cee
Mr. Cee
Associate Producer
Chris Athens
Chris Athens
Mastering Engineer

Lyrics

Live from Bedford-Stuyverson, the livest one Representin BK to the fullest Gats I pull it, bastards duckin when Big be buckin Chickenheads be cluckin in my bathroom fuckin It ain't nuttin, they know Big be handlin With the Mac in the ac door paneling Damagin' MC's, oxygen they can't breathe Mad tricks up the sleeve, wear boxers so my dick can breathe Breeze through in the Q-45 by my side, lyrical high And those that rushes my cluthes get put on crutches Get smoked like dutches from the master Hate to blast ya, but I have ta, you see I smoke a lot Your life is played out like Kwame, and them fuckin polka dots Who rock the spot? Biggie! You know how the weed go, unbelievable B-I-G, G-I-E, AKA, B.I.G. Get it? Biggie Also known as the bon appetit Rappers can't sleep need sleepin Big keep creepin Bulelts heat-seekin, casualties need treatin Dumb rappers need teachin Lesson A - don't fuck with B-I, that's that, oh I, thought he was wack Oh come come now, why y'all so dumb now Hunt me or be hunted, I got three hundred and fifty-seven ways To summer sautee, I'm the winner all day Lights get dimmer down Biggie's hallway My forte causes caucausians to say He sounds demented, car-weed scented If I said it, I meant it Bite my tongue for no-one Call me evil, or unbelievable Buck shots out the sun roof of Lexus Coupe's Leave no witnesses, what you think this is Ain't no amateurs here, I damage and tear MC's fear me, they too near not to hear me Clearly, I'm the triple beam dream One thousand grams of uncut to the gut It seems fucked up, the way I touched up the grill Tryin to play gorilla, when you ain't no killer The gat's by your liver, your upper lip quiver Get ready to die, tell God I said hi And throw down some ice, for the nicest MC Niggaz know the steelo, unbelievable
Writer(s): Robert S. Kelly, Christopher Wallace, Chris E. Martin Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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