| Wooo! |
| There’s gonna be a lot of punchin' in this motherfucker!
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| Y’all better be swift with that punch button, Jack!
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| Biggie! |
| — Biggie!
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| I know how it feel to wake up fucked up
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| Pockets broke as hell, another rock to sell
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| People look at you like youse the user
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| Selling drugs to all the losers, mad buddha abuser
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| But they don’t know about your stress-filled day
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| Baby on the way mad bills to pay
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| That’s why you drink Tanqueray; |
| so you can reminisce
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| And wish, you wasn’t livin so devilish, ssshit
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| I remember I was just like you
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| Smokin blunts with my crew, flippin over 62's
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| Cause G-E-D wasn’t B-I-G
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| I had to get P-A-I-D that’s why my mom’s hate me
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| She was forced to kick me out, no doubt
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| Then I figured out licks went for twenty down South
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| Packed up my tools for my raw power move
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| Glock nineteen for casket and flower moves
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| For chumps tryin' to stop my flow
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| And what they don’t know will show on the autopsy
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| Went to see Papi to cop me a brick
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| Asked for some consignment, he wasn’t tryin' to hear it
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| Smoking mad Newports 'cause I’m due in court
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| For an assault that I caught in Bridgeport, New York
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| Catch me if you can like the Gingerbread Man
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| You better have your gat in hand cause man
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| Come and run with me — I really wanna show you
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| How I run the streets — I really wanna show you
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| How I’m clockin' G’s — I really wanna show you
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| Come and run with me — I really wanna show you
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| I had the master plan
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| I’m in the caravan on my way to Maryland
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| With my man Two-Tecs to take over this projects
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| They call him Two-Tecs, he tote two TECs
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| And when he start to bust, he like to ask: «Who's next?»
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| I got my honey on the Amtrak
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| With the crack in the crack of her ass
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| Two pounds of hash in the stash
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| I wait for hon to make some quick cash
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| I told her she could be Lieutenant
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| Bitch got gassed
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| At last, I’m literally loungin' black
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| Sittin' back, countin' double digit thousand stacks
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| Had to re-up; |
| see what’s up with my peeps
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| Toyota Deal-a-Thon had it cheap on the Jeeps
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| See who got smoked, what rumors was spread
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| Last I heard I was dead with six to the head
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| Then I got the phone call, it couldn’t hit me harder
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| We got infiltrated like Nino at the Carter
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| Heard Tec got murdered in a town I never heard of
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| By some bitch named Alberta over nickel-plated burners
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| And my bitch swear to God she won’t snitch
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| I told her: «When she hit the bricks I’ll make the hooker rich!»
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| Conspiracy — She’ll be home in three
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| Until then I looks out for the whole family
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| A true G, that’s me! |
| Blowing like a bubble;
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| In the everyday struggle
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| Come and run with me — I really wanna show you
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| How I run the streets — I really wanna show you
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| How I’m clockin' G’s — I really wanna show you
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| Come and run with me — I really wanna show you
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| I’m seeing body after body and our mayor Giuliani
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| Ain’t tryin' to see no black
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| Man turn to John Gotti
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| Guns and diamonds
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| Bitches put they tongues where the sun ain’t shinin'
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| Take keys 'til they spot us, snakes flee with consignment
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| This kid he got his crib raided, police found grams
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| They locked up, his whole fam; |
| moms, sister, his old man
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| Nigga bailed his moms out, then he told on his man
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| Now they home, actin like nuttin wrong, hustlin again
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| He tried to be the next Frank White, and Escobar
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| Pickin up coke a fiend holds it in a separate car
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| Cooks it up til it’s bright white, cut it tight right
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| Then he slings it to the fiends, lookin like Fright Night
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| Coppin the motorbikes, the scooters, countin dough on computers
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| High technology dealers, to the users and losers
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| Half-leg DiDi, try to swap drug for TV’s
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| Stores run out of baking soda from BK to QB
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| My niggas die for the cause, .45 on the drawer
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| City laws made by Big Nas and Biggie Smalls
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| Bitches, holdin my weight in they titties and bras
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| My bitches out of state get busy while they pushin my cars
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| Callin me up, callin me baller, call for they cut
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| Pretty hoes bring me my cash, swallow all of this nut
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| Seats on the Bent' stay nasty, push the dash
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| For the stash box is where the cash be; |
| watchin for task force
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| Cause I know they comin but I’m reachin my goal
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| Fuck bummin, I’m makin sure I leave this whole game wit somethin
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| Crib in West Palms for my dime, crib for my moms
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| Ridiculous, you lookin at the next Nicholas Barnes, baby |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song I Really Want to Show You , by - The Notorious B.I.G.. Song from the album Born Again, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп