(I see the gimmicks, the wack lyrics) - The Notorious BIG
[ Verse 1 ]
I'm usin mics like bangers, victims get hit
Verbal homicide, razor blades spit
It's mad kids trapped up in the game, ain't nothing pretty
We all on a quest to have the tightest jam in the city
Or the fattest sound for the nine-pound
Shoot a 100 grand, I'm rollin headcracks on the ground
My mind is under siege from Chucky Black
I made my white-out fat with about three fourths of a 20 sack
Now I gots to blow the spot one time and in due time
You'll find the illustration of true crime
Too many n***** fakin moves today
Too many brothers gettin blown away
But I be makin licks anyway, everyday
And still hold a toast just in case of foul play
You always had somethin to say
Man, I know you wasn't s*** from the very first day
(I see the gimmicks, the wack lyrics)
[ Verse 2 ]
I ain't a rookie, son, I'm like a decorated soldier
I earned mad stripes, slugs hit you like a boulder
The K is all-pro with the MP-60
And I'ma stimulate like a monster hit a blow, so
Now it's time to pay some dues
You got to show some skill before you talk about a Uz or a Tec
And I lost mad respect
And if the wack s*** don't stop
I'm shuttin down shop
You took a turn for the worse, you're like a curse
You never come clean in your verse
You got players on the street gettin down for real
Gettin down for c**e, gettin down with steel
You ain't a thoroughbred, you ain't did no caper
What's this talk about you rich when you're workin with short paper?
You're like a disease
And, ahh, get the f*** from out of here before I squeeze
[ Verse 1 ]
I'm usin mics like bangers, victims get hit
Verbal homicide, razor blades spit
It's mad kids trapped up in the game, ain't nothing pretty
We all on a quest to have the tightest jam in the city
Or the fattest sound for the nine-pound
Shoot a 100 grand, I'm rollin headcracks on the ground
My mind is under siege from Chucky Black
I made my white-out fat with about three fourths of a 20 sack
Now I gots to blow the spot one time and in due time
You'll find the illustration of true crime
Too many n***** fakin moves today
Too many brothers gettin blown away
But I be makin licks anyway, everyday
And still hold a toast just in case of foul play
You always had somethin to say
Man, I know you wasn't s*** from the very first day
(I see the gimmicks, the wack lyrics)
[ Verse 2 ]
I ain't a rookie, son, I'm like a decorated soldier
I earned mad stripes, slugs hit you like a boulder
The K is all-pro with the MP-60
And I'ma stimulate like a monster hit a blow, so
Now it's time to pay some dues
You got to show some skill before you talk about a Uz or a Tec
And I lost mad respect
And if the wack s*** don't stop
I'm shuttin down shop
You took a turn for the worse, you're like a curse
You never come clean in your verse
You got players on the street gettin down for real
Gettin down for c**e, gettin down with steel
You ain't a thoroughbred, you ain't did no caper
What's this talk about you rich when you're workin with short paper?
You're like a disease
And, ahh, get the f*** from out of here before I squeeze