| Who the fuck is this, pagin' me at 5:46 in the morning?
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| Crack of dawn and now I’m yawnin'
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| Wipe the cold out my eye
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| See who’s this pagin' me and why
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| It’s my nigga, Pop from the barbershop
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| Told me he was in the gambling spot and heard the intricate plot
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| Of niggas wanna stick me like flypaper, neighbor
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| Slow down, love, please chill, drop the caper
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| Remember them niggas from the hill up in Brownsville
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| That you rolled dice with, smoked blunts and got nice with?
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| Yeah, my nigga Fame up in Prospect
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| Nah, them my niggas, nah, love, wouldn’t disrespect
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| I didn’t say them
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| They schooled me to some niggas that you knew from back when
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| When you was clockin' minor figures
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| Now they heard you’re blowin' up like nitro
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| And they wanna stick the knife through your windpipe slow
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| So, thank Fame for warnin' me, 'cause now I’m warnin' you
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| I got the MAC, nigga, tell me what you gonna do
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| Damn, niggas wanna stick me for my paper
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| Damn, niggas wanna stick me for my paper
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| Damn, niggas wanna stick me for my paper
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| Damn, niggas wanna stick me for my paper
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| They heard about the Rolexes and the Lexus
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| With the Texas license plates out of state
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| They heard about the pounds you got down in Georgetown
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| And they heard you got half of Virginia locked down
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| They even heard about the crib
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| You bought your moms out in Florida, the Fifth Corridor
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| Call the coroner!
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| There’s gonna be a lot of slow singin' and flower-bringin'
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| If my burglar alarm starts ringin'
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| What ya think all the guns is for?
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| All-purpose war, got the Rottweilers by the door
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| And I feed 'em gunpowder so they can devour
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| The criminals tryin' to drop my decimals
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| Damn, niggas wanna stick me for my cream
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| And it ain’t a dream, things ain’t always what it seem
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| It’s the ones that smoke blunts with ya, see your picture
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| Now they wanna grab they guns and come and get ya
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| Bet ya Biggie won’t slip
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| I got the Calico with the black talons loaded in the clip
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| So I can rip through the ligaments
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| Put the fuckers in a bad predicament
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| Where all the foul niggas went
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| Touch my cheddar, feel my Beretta
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| Buck what I’ma hit you with, you motherfuckers better duck
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| I bring pain, bloodstains on what remains
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| Of his jacket, he had a gun, he shoulda packed it
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| Cocked it, extra clips in my pocket
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| So I can reload and explode on your asshole
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| I fuck around and get hardcore
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| C-4 to your door, no beef no more, nigga
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| Feel the rough, scandalous
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| The more weed smoke I puff, the more dangerous
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| I don’t give a fuck about you or your weak crew
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| What you gonna do when Big Poppa come for you?
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| I’m not runnin', nigga, I bust my gun and
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| Hold on, I hear somebody comin'
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| C’mon, motherfucker
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| Man, I’m comin' as fast as I can
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| Just g— bring your motherfuckin' ass on, come on
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| Are we gettin' close, huh?
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| It’s right over here
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| You sure it’s Biggie Smalls crib, man?
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| Yeah, I’m sure, motherfucker, come on
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| Man, fuck, this better be his motherfuckin' house
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| Fuck, right here
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| Tsk, this better be this motherfucker’s house
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| Oh shit
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| What? |
| What’s wrong?
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| What’s that red dot on your head, man?
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| What red dot?
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| Oh shit! |
| You got a red dot on your head, too
|
| Oh shit! |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Warning, artist - The Notorious B.I.G.. Album song Music Inspired By Biggie: I Got A Story To Tell, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп