Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Just a Memory, artist - The Notorious B.I.G..
Date of issue: 12.12.2005
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Just a Memory |
Its Bad Boy bitch |
Scram Jones… the Clipse… B.I.G. |
Let’s go Niggaz in my faction don’t like asking questions |
Strictly gun testing, coke measuring |
Giving pleasure in the Benz-ito |
Hitting fanny, spendin chips at Manny’s |
Hope you creeps got receipts, my peeps get dirty like cleats |
Run up in your crib, wrap you up in your Polo sheets |
Six up in your wig piece, nigga decease |
Muah!, may you rest in peace |
With my Sycamore style, more sicker than yours |
Four-four, and fifty-four draw |
As my pilot, steers my Leer |
Yes my dear shit’s official, only the Feds I fear |
Here’s a tissue, stop your blood clot crying |
The kids, the dog, everybody dyin, no lying |
So don’t you get suspicious |
I’m Big dangerous you’re just a Likkle Vicious |
As I leave my competition, respirator style |
Climb the ladder to success, escalator style |
Hold y’all breath, I told y’all, death controls y’all |
Big don’t fold y’all, (big don’t fold y’all) |
I spit phrases that’ll thrill you, (thrill you) |
You’re nobody till somebody kills you (I don’t wanna die) |
(chorus) |
Do you know where your going too |
Just a memory… everybody dying |
When I throw my clip in the AK |
May you rest in peace |
Your nobody till somebody kills you |
Do you know where your goin too |
Just a memory… so you better pack a pistol |
Everybody dying, death controls y’all |
Your nobody till somebody kills you |
Label limbo, I treat it like the wind blows |
My back don’t bend, see papi is my kenfolk |
Spin out the work, as if its on a ten spoke |
Soul benefactor the benz, he made the rims poke |
Trust me they can’t touch P, in one touchie |
Turn drop-head coupe to dune-buggy |
Admire the verses, their inspired by the hearses |
That carried my niggaz, and had the church mothers cursing |
Imagine the glamour that comes out the flow |
Of a nigga who still play in the snow like Santa |
The wrist is rushing, my ears is blushing |
And the diamonds in my chain, big as grandma’s buttons, (yes!) |
On the flipside, the steel I’m gripping |
You thought all the floss had me slipping? |
Think again, blink again let me know that your bluffing |
Lead give permanent concussion, your nothing |
Ha ha ha ha ha check out the fisad |
On the face of rap, so we gon raise the bar |
A mil on the crib, mean a quarter on the car |
Bentley coupe another short of the arnage |
Even as a youth I was laudering the stoop |
Underneath the nose, and the Feds had no clue |
I was pushing keys in a V with no roof |
Rich, black, two big guns and no coof |
Things at the label, well they tend to get unstable |
And that pretty much leave Malice at the table |
Or over the stove with the flame to the ladle |
Because Im a provider as long as I am able |
This here hughe the most foolish of blues |
When I tell my mom the price |
She damn near sent me to my room |
It’s the M-A-L-I-C-I-O-U-S |
You don’t wanna try nigga, you next uhh |
Biggie Duets… |
Born Again… |
Life After Death… |
Legacy lives on. |
and on, and on These motherfuckers still can’t see you BIG |
shit you ain’t even here. |
Motherfuckers better step their game up. |
Greatest of all time, Greatest of all time! |
Motherfuckers… |