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Rap Phenomenon (feat. Redman & Method Man) (2005 Remaster)
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Crédits

INTERPRÉTATION
Method Man
Method Man
Interprète
The Notorious B.I.G.
The Notorious B.I.G.
Chant
COMPOSITION ET PAROLES
The Notorious B.I.G.
The Notorious B.I.G.
Paroles/Composition
Chris Martin
Chris Martin
Paroles/Composition
Clifford Smith
Clifford Smith
Paroles/Composition
Isaiah Lee
Isaiah Lee
Paroles/Composition
Kenneth Gamble
Kenneth Gamble
Paroles/Composition
Ronald Chambers
Ronald Chambers
Paroles/Composition
Thomas Bell
Thomas Bell
Paroles/Composition
Reggie Noble
Reggie Noble
Paroles/Composition
Tracey Lee
Tracey Lee
Paroles/Composition
PRODUCTION ET INGÉNIERIE
Eddie Sancho
Eddie Sancho
Ingénierie de mixage
DJ Premier
DJ Premier
Production
Joe Perrera
Joe Perrera
Ingénierie de prise de son

Paroles

Meth-Tical Biggie. Biggie, (mmmhmmmmmm) Uhh. uhh. uhh (yo c'mon Big) uhh Fuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches The prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit Flooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches Smack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it So I grab it, never run, the outcome Is usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be Or where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast Leave most in the blood they layin in, what, what? The rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out It's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth It's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented But they wasn't, so run it, cousin I could chill, the heat doesn't Ran up in your shell about a dozen You never see bank like Frank White Your hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate You 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high I don't brownnose out of town hoes I'm up around four with the crowbar to the five point oh I get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect You ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes Explode the pyros when Doc guest appear I'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here Your time is near, so get your body dropped off I stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught It's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored By the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother I.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too I break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue The Doc was born with a grenade palm I'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom Yo Biggie, what what, she havin my bay-bayy If I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high This rule is so underrated Actin as if it can't happen, you're frontin Ain't no other kings in this rap thing Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon This rule is so underrated Actin as if it can't happen, you're fronting Ain't no other kings in this rap thing Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon Uhh, uhh I got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys Y'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed Motherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks Fuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, and you don't stops Me and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance Bought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants From Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion Bitches get naked off "Get Money", "Player's Anthem" Don't forget, "One More Chance" and, my other hits, other shit Niggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually In and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me Make his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy Blastin me, your family, rest in coffins often Frank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla Play hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer Slash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer Don't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket I take these adolescents back to Spofford Mentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side That's infinity, too many sick niggas, nickel nines Bring the remedy, when you play the field, what's the penalty Unnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers Stuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid Until they got love for my music Star Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes And three charges, I got to see-three-P.O.'s This is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel Eyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the war That's my people, sho' nuff, before I roll up This is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky I rep S.I., the unpretty, word to left eye New york shitty, put they weight on it And who better for the job than biggie the notorious Jeee-zus, unbelievable rhyme that reaches And touch individual, small frame buck and change MC, what's your name, tuck your chain All about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin Kick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin Hot, forcin my way up in the door To kill the bullshit like a matador Keep your hands high (what?)
Writer(s): Christopher Wallace, Clifford Smith, Christopher E Martin, Reggie Noble, Ike Lee, Kenneth Gamble, Tracy Lee, Roland Lawrence Chambers, Thomas Randolph Bell Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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