[Intro]
Come on, mothafucka!

Come on, motherfuckers, come on! (x4)

Release the brainstorm, to make your motherfucking brain warm
A strange form, something kind of lyrical
Biggie the bastard, Sadat's kind of spiritual
Well, in God we trust, guns I bust
Got that disgusting, sewer-style dumping
And, uh, do you know where you're going to?
Do you like the things that I bring?

I got seven Mac-11's, about eight .38's
Nine 9's, ten Mac-10's the shits never end
You can't touch my riches
Even if you had MC Hammer and them 357 bitches
Biggie Smalls, the millionaire, the mansion, the yacht
The two weed spots, the two hot Glocks
Huh, that's how I got the weed spot
I shot dread in the head, took the bread and the lamb's bread
Lil' Gotti got the shotty to your body
So don't resist, or you might miss Christmas
I tote guns, I make number runs
I give emcees the runs dripping
When I throw my clip in the AK, I slay from far away
Everybody hit the D-E-C-K
My slow flows remarkable
Peace to Matteo
Now we smoke weed like Tony Montana sniff the yayo
That's crazy blunts, mad L's
My voice excels from the avenue to jail cells
Oh my God I'm dropping shit like a pigeon
I hope you're listening, smacking babies at they christening
So you better grab your pistol
Cause if you sit still, I'm gonna make your fucking shit spill
And I'm talking 'bout buckets, why did I have to do it?
Sadat said fuck it, you got a gun, nigga bust it
Cause I got mo' shots to pop ya
Big Poppa, breaking you off something proper
Signing off is the hardcore rap singer
AKA crack slinger, bring it any time nigga

Come on, motherfuckers, come on! (x4)

So you wanna be hardcore
With your hat to the back
Talking about the gats in your raps
But I can't feel that hardcore
Appeal that you're screaming
Maybe I'm dreaming
This ain't Christopher Williams, still some
MC's got to feel one
Caps, I got to peel some
To let niggas know
That if you fuck with big-and-heavy
I get up in that ass like a wedgie
Niggas saying: "Biggie off the street, it's a miracle!"
Left the drugs alone, took the thugs along with me
Just for niggas acting shifty
Sticks and stones break bones, but the gat'll kill you quicker
Especially when I'm drunk off the liquor
Smoking blunts by the boxes, packing Glocks
It's natural to eat you niggas like chocolates
The funk, baby

All I want is bitches, big-booty bitches
Used to sell crack, so I could stack my riches
Now I pack gats to stop all the snitches
From staying in my business, what is this, relentless
Approach to know if I'm broke or not
Just cause I joke and smoke a lot
Don't mean I don't tote the Glock
16 shots for my niggas in the pen
Until we motherfucking meet again
I'm doing rhymes now, fuck the crimes now
Come on the ave, I'm real hard to find now
Cause I'm knee-deep in the beats
In the Land Cruiser Jeep with the MAC-10 by the seats
For the jackers, the jealous-ass crackers in the *blue suits*
I'll make you prove that it's bulletproof
Hold your head, cause when you hit the bricks
I got gin, mad blunts, and bitches sucking dick
The funk, baby
...the funk, baby

[Bridge]

You know the story, the rap-side, crack-side
How I smoked funk, smacked bitches on the backside
Bed-Stuy: the place where my head rests
50-shot clip if a nigga want test
The rocket launcher, Biggie stomped ya
High as a motherfucking helicopter
That's why I pack a Nina, fuck a misdeameanor
Beating motherfuckers like Ike beat Tina

A nigga never been as broke as me - I like that
When I was young I had two pair of Lees, besides that
The pin stripes and the gray
The one I wore on Mondays and Wednesdays
While niggas flirt I'm sewing tigers on my shirts, and alligators
You want to see the inside, I see you later
Mmh, that's that nigga with the fake, blaow
Why you punch me in my face, stay in your place
Play your position, here come my intuition
Go in this nigga pocket, rob him while his friends watching
That ho's clocking, here comes respect
His crew's your crew or they might be next
Look at they man eye, big man, they never try
So we rolled with them, stole with them
I mean loyalty, niggas bought me milks at lunch
The milks was chocolate, the cookies, butter crunch

I had enough heart for most of them
Long as I got stuff from most of them
It's on, even when I was wrong I got my point across
They depicted me the boss, of course
My orange box-cutter make the world go round
Plus I'm fucking bitches ain't my homegirls now
Start stacking, dabbled in crack, gun packing
Nickname Medina make the seniors tote my Niñas
From gym class, to English pass off a global
The only nigga with a mobile can't you see like Total
Getting larger in waists and tastes
Ain't no telling where this felon is heading, just in case
Keep a shell at the tip of your melon, clear the space
Your brain was a terrible thing to waste

After realizing, to master enterprising
I ain't have to be in school by ten, I was in
Began to encounter with my counterparts
On how to burn the block apart, break it down into sections
Drugs by the selections
Some use pipes, others use injections
Syringe sold separately Frank the Deputy
Quick to grab my Smith & Wesson like my dick was missing
To protect my position, my corner, my lair
While we out here, say the Hustlers Prayer
Take a better stand
Put money in my mom's hand
Get my daughter this college grant so she don't need no man
Stay far from timid
Only make moves when your heart's in it
And live the phrase sky's the limit

[Outro]

...motherfucker.