Lyrics Hands on My 45 - Biggie Smalls

Hands on My 45

Split the dutches fill it with the skunk we about to
Get wicked in the joint uh Notorious is glorious
cough, cough
Niggas now who's the mind blower, the weed grower
Have you seeing doubles like Noah, the rhyme flower
B.I.G.
top notch with the Glock check your pockets
And your sock it's just the way my pops taught me
When you throw the drop check em thoroughly
The bastard might spin around and try to bury me
And dead niggas don't make no moves
When I'm slingin in the hood I don't fake no moves aight
Reminiscin on my swingin days
When I drove a Caddy and my bitch sported finger waves
Yea she had the Gucci boots I had Sarducci suits
Oshkosh-begosh Coca-Cola lookin real cute
Junior M.A.F.I.A.
representin Bucktown
Mac-11 cocked back niggas better duck down
Face down you know the routine the cream
Earrings you know the drama Biggie bring
How should I plead forever thuggin on a quest to get G's
Runnin from enemies ever since the days of a seed
I'm under pressure the stress will have me drinkin
Thinkin niggas after me much too paranoid to blink
Wonder why the police don't want to see me stackin G's
They after a playa but I won't let em capture me
I gotta thank the lord for the weed and the nicotine
I can't sleep close my eyes I see wicked deams (deamons)
I keep my pistol by my bedside one in the chamber
Preoccupied with homocide my life's in danger
Rollin down the four-five beware of stangers
Hand on my 4-5 that's what the fame does
I'm probably wrong but I'll never know it till I'm gone
From out the ghetto where the jealous motherfuckers roam
Pass the weed let that Hennessey get to me
Before the penitentiary