Mother***kers come on, mother***kers come on
Mother***kers come on, mother***kers come on
Mother***kers come on, mother***kers come on
Mother***kers come on, mother***kers come on
Woo~
I got seven Mac-11s, about eight .38s
Nine 9s, ten Mac-10s the sh**s never end
You can't touch my riches
Even if you had MC Hammer and them 357 b**hes
Biggie Smalls, the millionaire, the mansion, the yacht
The two w**d spots, the two hot Glocks
Huh, that's how I got the w**d spot
I shot dread in the head, took the bread and the lamb spread
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 MCs 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 w**d 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 sh** 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 f**ing sh** spill
And I'm talking 'bout buckets, why did I have to do it?
Sadat said f**k it, you got a gun, n***a bust it
Cause I got more 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 n***a
Come on, mother***kers come on
Come on, mother***kers come on
Come on, mother***kers come on
Come on, mother***kers come on