Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Get Your Grind On, artist - The Notorious B.I.G.. Date of issue: 12.12.2005
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Get Your Grind On |
| But I would’ve loved to hear |
| A Big Pun and B.I.G. |
| collabo |
| That shit would’ve been incredible |
| Aye yaknahmsayin, it was just happen |
| We have our day, you know? |
| I seen him, I seen him, I seen him at the pearly gates, yaknahmean? |
| We keep it, keep it, keep it going from there |
| Uhh, I dream filthy |
| My moms and pops mixed me with Jamaican Rum and Whiskey |
| Huh, what a set up |
| Shoulda pushed 'em dead off, wipe the sweat off |
| Uhh, cause in this world I’m dead off, squeeze lead off |
| Benz sped off, ain’t no shook hands in Brook-land |
| Army fatigue break up teams, the enemies |
| Look man, you wanna see me locked up, shot up |
| Moms crotched up over the casket, screamin BASTARD |
| Cryin, know my friends is lyin |
| Y’all know who killed 'em filled 'em with the lugars from they Rugers |
| or they Desert, dyin ain’t the shit but it’s pleasant |
| Kinda quiet, watch my niggaz bring the riot |
| Giving cats the opposite of diets |
| You gain thirty pounds when you die no lie, lazy eye |
| I was high when they hit me, took a few cats with me |
| Shit, I need the company (uh-huh) |
| Apoligies in order, to T’Yanna my daughter |
| If it was up to me you would be with me, sorta like |
| Daddy Dearest, my vision be the clearest |
| Silencers so you can’t hear it |
| Competition still fear it, shit don’t ask me |
| I went from ashy to nasty to classy, and still |
| Nigga still gotta get his grind on |
| Come get introduced to my home |
| I grew up in the crime zone |
| Soon as you grown, you on your own, you keep your strap |
| You keep your chrome cause the streets is chilly |
| Now get your grind on |
| Come get introduced to my home |
| A nigga grew up in the pro-jects, end up gettin mo' stressed |
| Mo' money, mo' drama you know a nigga keep his armor |
| Cause the streets are killin |
| Now get your grind on |
| Come get introduced to my home |
| Yo, yo |
| The penalty is death, especially when I’m mentally stressed |
| My enemies hang with me 'til I eventually flip |
| I never reject an offer to battle |
| Slap a coffin on the saddle |
| and rattle like a wooden horse to el barrio |
| Niggaz talk but they babble cause they ain’t sayin nuttin |
| If ain’t blazin somethin with the mac I’m in the shack bakin muffins |
| Fake the funk and get your rump roast |
| One dose of the toast’ll make you jump if you come close |
| Pun spoke, ain’t no more debatin; |
| my Squad been waitin |
| for the perfect time to give you what you all been waitin |
| An orgi-nation of veterans built |
| with genuine skills to pay the heat, gas, and the rest of the bills |
| Invest in the real, don’t get left in the hills |
| My tech and my steel turn your whole crew into vega-ta-bills |
| We blessed with the will to never surrender |
| cause my every agenda’s in and out, unseen like I entered the ninja |
| It’s my world |
| I got that new F-N, call it that faggot nigga gun |
| Couple of hollow tips make you faggot niggaz run |
| Crack pull up, everybody clear out |
| Anybody pumpin that rock is gettin aired out |
| I’m in that caddy with my bitch in the pack |
| Your mommy got a body but she itchin to clap |
| And I know you pitchin purple but we switchin the packs |
| Listen, don’t make me hurt you I’m just givin the facts |
| On that I 9−5 swirvin to a town near you |
| My niggaz watch out for that Black Surburbans |
| And no it’s not the Feds, man papi’s home |
| And papi got it good, he could put you on |
| Listen, I done made abandoned blocks look hot |
| Nine to ten Benzes, a couple of drops |
| Couple of rubber bands from the corrupt cops |
| Just to see my niggaz eat and shit and huggin the blocks |
| Crack a chestize 'em, right besides 'em |
| In front of a hundred million viewers, shouldn’t surprise 'em |
| We from the Bronx where the may-ors lift up |
| And niggaz get shot in broad day cause we don’t give a… |
| Fuck little niggaz on bike and just shoot you |
| All for a pair of some Nikes, the shits brutal |
| I done seen fiends O.D., shot the wrong pack |
| Then they call the shit the bomb smack |
| Word to Crack, the god body, the hard body, the realest ever |
| The John Gotti, this rap shit, will it kill me? |
| Never |
| This goes out to cats, fingers in they ass again |
| Fifty dollar half-a-men, daydreamin |
| Fuck around get wet like semen, your whole team-and |
| be Mor-gan than Freeman |
| I took the cream and, moved to new places new faces |
| Fuck the screwfaces, cause when I flip |
| I make the papers, dangerous, we Goodfellas |
| Niggaz can’t bang with us, try to do me |
| My crew be unruly (what) |
| To old school cats that call gats toolies |
| Call blacks moolies, think it’s cool to smoke woolies |
| And fuck without rubbers (what) specialize |
| in killin wives and grandmothers, who ya trustin, shit |
| When Frank start bustin, Frank start somethin |
| Killin ya gently, God meant me, to push a Bentley |
| Me and Sean Combs takin broads home |
| On the phone with the chip, with these Cristal chicks |
| Bout to make our own porno flicks, my life’s the shit |