Come On [2005 Remaster]

Come on motherfuckers, come on Let's go deep into the phrase, beautiful sunrays

Off the baldhead, everything is real

Biggie me put on this joint so I'ma be the big wheel

Watch it Slim, hey Dad, place yo' bet on seven

Peace to one-oh-six, one-oh-eight, one-to-the-hundred-eleventh

Hey Biggie, I understand you're from Brooklyn

With 22's in your shoes, yo keep the shank ready

Uhhh well, why not blow up the spot with Sadat

Release the BRAINSTORM, to make your motherfuckin BRAIN WARM

A strange form, somethin kind of lyrical

Biggie the bastard, Sadat's kind of spiritual

Well "In God We Trust", guns I bust

Got that disgustin, sewer style dumpin

And that uhh do you knowwwwww, where you're goin to

Do you like the things that I bring?

Make an emcee wanna sing for a livin

Take the beatdown we fuckin givin, c'mon motherfucker

Come on motherfuckers, come on

What? Niggaz want drama, puttin work on my block

When I told y'all last week, that shit was too hot

Sellin pieces and treys, cuts my dimes

Somebody gon' get paid, somebody block get sprayed

Reaction is delayed as y'all run down the block

Caught one in your chest, your breath come in spurts

Hey yo Biggie tell these niggaz I'ma hit em where it hurts

The big city it don't spare no bodies

Call me papichulo, to all the spanish mamis

I'm about ten blunts down, drank three or fo' stouts

Seen five fat asses, passed this bitch with glasses

Hey yo money that's yo' stock, yo Bigs pass the glock

I'ma tell him it can happen, don't play me with that rap shit

Life is real, so Biggie take the steel

Come on motherfuckers, come on

Uhh

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

HAH, that's how I got the weed spot

I shot dread in the head, took the bread and the landspread

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 drippin;

When I throw my clip in the A.K., 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 llello

That's crazy blunts, mad L's

My voice excels from the avenue to jailcells

Oh my God I'm droppin shit like a pigeon

I hope you're listenin, smackin babies at they christening

So you better grab your pistol

Cause if you sit still, I'm gonna make your fuckin shit spill

And I'm talkin 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 Pop-pa, breakin you off somethin proper

Signin off is the hardcore rap singer

A.k.a. crack slinger, bring it anytime nigga

Come on motherfuckers, come on