Verse One:
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
Bandaging MC's oxygen they can't breathe
Mad tricks up the sleeve red 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 yo, unbelievable

Verse Two:
be -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 be -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, 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

Verse Three:
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 : WALLACE, CHRISTOPHER/MARTIN, CHRISTOPHER E/KELLY, ROBERT S
Copyright : Lyrics © EMI Music Publishing, Warner/Chappell Music, Inc.