Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Last Day, artist - The Notorious B.I.G.. Date of issue: 03.03.1997
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Last Day |
| Can I live 'til my last day? |
| Hittin' honies that be na-sty |
| Gettin' money in the fast way |
| And I only care halfway |
| But I still can’t let you pass me |
| Yo what’s beef to you, three niggas with hoodies and bats |
| That ain’t shit compared to one small cat with gats |
| When we came here we cut off all kind circulation |
| Breathin', eatin', the whole situation |
| When we do our shit we do our shit for real |
| While you take your money for your deal and make your own beats |
| Compose your own sheets, that’s aight but chill |
| I’ma spend that mil and cop only hot shit |
| Rock top shit you know how The LOX get |
| Then you can see me flyin' in the Bentley cockpit |
| LOX and B-I, hold our grica down for years |
| Gang not, but we been had our black tears |
| Niggas under the stairs only understand what we got |
| Underground, all above must get shot |
| You couldn’t book me Dano, Sheek Luciano put the burners |
| To all y’all, what nigga bring it I’m callin' y’all |
| You already know what it’s about when I run up in your house |
| Put the gun up in your mouth and get the money out the couch |
| Hearin' you out is senseless, perhaps for instance |
| I give this faggot a french kiss |
| Black gloves, no prints, dark tints |
| Word on the street they ain’t heard from him since |
| You know about life after kickin' the kid in |
| Since me and my mi-dan can flip seven gri-dams |
| Scri-dam, the flow is forbidden |
| Either you ridin' or you dyin' 'cause we swingin' iron |
| LOX and Poppa, turning niggas into Jim Hoffa |
| Who gon' stop us? |
| Your last joint double copper |
| You gettin' money or you’re runnin' from the Feds |
| Ain’t nothin' over here but 16 with one in the head |
| And I solemnly swear |
| That all y’all niggas out there got a problem this year |
| Can I live 'til my last day? |
| Hittin' honies that be na-sty |
| Gettin' money in the fast way |
| And I only care halfway |
| But I still can’t let you pass me |
| Can I live 'til my last day? |
| Hittin' honies that be na-sty |
| Gettin' money in the fast way |
| And I only care halfway |
| But I still can’t let you pass me |
| Before you think of keepin' me down, heatin' me down |
| The flow like water get deep and you drown |
| With no soul, many niggas roll with no goal |
| Even the small gun got a little black hole |
| Your destiny is something you can never figure out |
| Niggas is never happy 'til there’s blood up in your mouth |
| There’s a lot of killers, but who the hell are you to blame |
| There’s a lot of dead, how the hell you take the pain? |
| Live with it got money you better give with it |
| My man had the thug in him did his bid with it |
| Get married to the game but never have a kid with it |
| Advice from the wise, slice the pies |
| Too many schemes devised when dreams collide |
| Teams provide war for the street to absorb |
| You stashed in the ceiling and you slept on the floor |
| Only a blind thug’ll fall in love with a whore |
| Uhh, uhh, uhh |
| Who the fuck wanna squeeze? |
| My Desert E’s make MC’s freeze |
| You wakin' up in cold sweats, they just dreams |
| You still apologizin' |
| Analyzin', my size and your size and |
| Realizin', a fist fight would be asinine |
| You just pop wines, I must pop nines |
| Genuine steel piece, nozzle in your grill piece |
| You’re shook up, two bricks, every cook up |
| We can hook up, all I see is the future |
| Disrespect, I shoot ya |
| By the way, them bricks get flipped weekly |
| Sold by soldiers that mix weed with the leak leak |
| Die for a dollar, nigga, life ain’t sweet |
| Play for keeps, wet shirts with experts on the creep |
| Our beef is my fiancé, about to marry it |
| Illegal transactions in Farragut with Arabics |
| Why not, they fit twelve up in the bedroom |
| Imagine what they stash is like, make you a classic like |
| My first LP, beef with me is unhealthy |
| Fuck around and get an ulcer, loose your pulse or |
| Collapsed lung, look how many gats I brung |
| For them homos, still doin' promos |
| Break both your legs you’re movin' slow-mo |
| Got shine to glow mo' |
| Nine hundred and ninety six grams, you need four mo' |
| Can I live 'til my last day? |
| Hittin' honies that be na-sty |
| Gettin' money in the fast way |
| And I only care halfway |
| But I still can’t let you pass me |
| Can I live 'til my last day? |
| Hittin' honies that be na-sty |
| Gettin' money in the fast way |
| And I only care halfway |
| But I still can’t let you pass me |
| Can I live 'til my last day? |
| Hittin' honies that be na-sty |
| Gettin' money in the fast way |
| And I only care halfway |
| But I still can’t let you pass me |