My man inf left a tec and a nine at my crib
Turned himself in, he had to do a bid
A one-to-three, he be home the end of 93
Im ready to get this paper, g, you with me?
Motherfucking right, my pockets looking kind of tight
And Im stressed, yo biggie let me get the vest
No need for that, just grab the fucking gat
The first pocket thats fat the tec is to his back
Word is bond, Im a smoke him yo dont fake no moves (what? )
Treat it like boxing: stick and move, stick and move
nig-ga, you aint got to explain shit
Ive been robbin motherfuckers since the slave ships
With the same clip and the same four-five
Two point-blank, a motherfuckers sure to die
Thats my word, nig-ga even try to bogart
Have his mother singing its so hard...
