Ascolta 'Victory (feat. The Notorious B.I.G. & Busta Rhymes)' di Puff Daddy

Victory (feat. The Notorious B.I.G. & Busta Rhymes)

Puff Daddy

Hip-Hop/Rap

507.358 Shazams

Video musicale

In primo piano

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Crediti

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Busta Rhymes
Busta Rhymes
Vocals
The Notorious B.I.G.
The Notorious B.I.G.
Vocals
Puff Daddy
Puff Daddy
Vocals
Bill Conti
Bill Conti
Sampled Artist
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Bill Conti
Bill Conti
Songwriter
Jason Phillips
Jason Phillips
Songwriter
Steven Jordan
Steven Jordan
Songwriter
Sean "Puffy" Combs
Sean "Puffy" Combs
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Lane Craven
Lane Craven
Mixing Engineer
Stevie J.
Stevie J.
Producer
Doug Wilson
Doug Wilson
Recording Engineer
John Eaton
John Eaton
Recording Engineer
Stephen Dent
Stephen Dent
Recording Engineer
John "JM" Meredith
John "JM" Meredith
Assistant Recording Engineer
Lorrenn Argumedes
Lorrenn Argumedes
Assistant Recording Engineer
Herb Powers, Jr.
Herb Powers, Jr.
Mastering Engineer
Sean "Puffy" Combs
Sean "Puffy" Combs
Producer

Testi

One, one, two Check me out right here yo Yo, the sun don't shine forever But as long as it's here then we might as well shine together Better now than never, business before pleasure P. Diddy and the Fam, who you know do it better? Yeah, right, no matter what, we air tight So when you hear something, make sure you hear it right Don't make a ass outta yourself, by assuming Our music keeps you moving, what are you proving? You know that I'm two levels above you baby Hug me baby, I'ma make you love me baby Talking crazy ain't gonna get you nothin' but choked And that jealousy is only gonna leave you broke So the only thing left now is God for these cats And BIG you know you too hard for these cats I'ma win 'cause I'm too smart for these cats While they making up facts (uh), you raking up plaques In the commission, you ask for permission to hit 'em He don't like me, hit him while wifey was with him You heard of us, the murderous, most shady Been on the low lately, the Feds hate me The son of S-, they say my killing's too blatant You hesitating, I'm in your mama crib waiting Duct taping, your fam destiny Lays in my hands, gat lays in my waist Francis, M to the izz-H phenomenal Gun rest under your vest by the abdominal Rhyme a few bars, so I could buy a few cars And I kick a few flows, so I can pimp a few hoes Excellence is my presence, never tense Never hesitant, leave a nigga bent real quick Real sick, brawl nights, I perform like Mike Anyone, Tyson, Jordan, Jackson Action, pack guns, ridiculous And I'm, quick to bust, if my ends you touch Kids or girl you touch, in this world I clutch Two auto-matoes, used to call me fatso Now you call me Castro, my rap flows Militant, y'all faggots ain't killing shit Oops, Cristal keep spilling shit, you overdid it holmes You in the danger zone, you shouldn't be alone Hold hands and say it like me The most shady, Frankie baby, fantastic Graphic, trying to make dough, like Jurassic Park, did quick to spark kids who start shit See me, only me The Underboss of this holocaust Truly yours, Frank White We got the real live shit from front to back To my people in the world, where the fuck you at? Where my niggas is at? Where my niggas is at? Where the fuck my bitches at? Where my bitches is at? We got the real live shit from front to back To my people in the world, where the fuck you at? Where my niggas is at? Where my niggas is at? Where the fuck my bitches at? Where my bitches is at? Put your money on the table and get your math on Break it down, split it up, get your laugh on See you later Dog, I'ma get my stash on There's a bed full of money that I get my ass on I never lose the passion to go platinum Said I'd live it up 'til all the cash gone Ain't that funny, only use plastic, craft it To make classics, hotter than acid P-D, rollin' on your tape or CD The Billboard killa, no team illa The Fam-o, ammo, is every channel We been hot for a long time burning like a candle What you can do is check your distribution My songs bump in Houston like Scarface produced 'em You ain't gotta like me, you just mad 'Cause I tell it how it is, and you tell it how it might be We got the shit, Mac tight, brass knuckles and flashlights The heaters in the two-seaters, with two midas Senoritas, kiss rings when you meet us P. Diddy run the city, show no pity I'm the witty one, Frank's the crook from the Brook' Mad he broke the neck of your coke connect No respect squeeze off 'til all y'all diminish Shootouts for 20 minutes, until we finish Venice took the loot, escaped, in the Coupe Break bread, with the Kiss, Peniro, Sheek Louch Black Rob joined the mob, it ain't no replacing him Niggas step up, with just Mase and 'em Placing them in funerals, criminals turned aroused The Brick City, nobody come off like P-Diddy Business wise, I play men Hide money on the Island Cayman, y'all just betray men You screaming, I position, competition 'Nother day in the life of the commission We got the real live shit from front to back To my niggas in the world, where the fuck you at? Where my niggas is at? Where my niggas is at? Where the fuck my bitches at? Where my bitches is at? We got the real live shit from front to back To my niggas in the world, where the fuck you at? Where my niggas is at? Where my niggas is at? Where the fuck my bitches at? Where my bitches is at? We got the real live shit from front to back To my niggas in the world, where the fuck you at? Where my niggas is at? Where my niggas is at? Where the fuck my bitches at? Where my bitches is at? We got the real live shit from front to back To my niggas in the world, where the fuck you at? Where my niggas is at? Where my niggas is at? Where the fuck my bitches at? Where my bitches is at? We got the real live shit Can y'all hear me out there? (Fuck y'all niggas wanna do) It's all fucked up now What I'ma do now, huh? What I'ma do now? It's all fucked up now
Writer(s): Jason Phillips, Trevor Smith, Christopher Wallace, Steven A. Jordan, Sean Puffy Combs, Bill Conti Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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