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