In primo piano
Suggerimenti
Crediti
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Big L
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
L. Coleman
Songwriter
Robert Hall Jr.
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Lord Finesse
Producer
John Shriver
Assistant Engineer
Chris Irish
Assistant Engineer
Dino Zervos
Assistant Engineer
Mack Robinson
Assistant Engineer
Tony Dawsey
Mastering Engineer
Chris Conway
Engineer
Testi
Yo, once again it's the Big L, that kid who got much props
From killin' corrupt cops, with motherfuckin' buck shots
So, don't step to this, 'cause I got a live crew
You might be kinda big, but they make coffins yo' size too
I was taught wise, I'm known to extort guys
This ain't Cali, it's Harlem, nigga, we do work-bys
No one can match me, tax me or wax me
If you want me to write you some raps, G, just ask me
'Cause on the shelf is where your LP cold stood
Because it was no good, that shit ain't even go wood
I'm not the type to take sluts out, I just fuck they guts out
Get my nuts out, then break the fuck out
Me being a virgin? That's idiotic
'Cause if Big L got the AIDS, every cutie in the city got it
Once, a nigga tried to stick me for six Gs
And I put more holes in his ass than Swiss cheese
Thugs better scat when the gat goes click-clack
Or I'ma have your family dressed in all black
Thugs better scat when the gat goes click-clack
Or I'ma have your family dressed in all black
I steal lives like a stone thief, so leave me alone, chief
Or catch a buck shot to your dome piece
I must warn, I got it goin' on, word is bond
Thugs be gettin' thrown off platforms like P.M. Dawn
I'm catchin' bodies like a villain's supposed to
And I squeeze triggers, not just on niggaz but hoes too
So, don't try to test me, 'cause I can't stand testers
Fuck around, I'll introduce you to your ancestors
Step to this and get left with a face full of tears, pal
But man, you've been rappin' for years now
And ain't made a hit yet, you flop in a split sec
In the shower's the only time you get your dick wet
I roll with scary crews, I come out of wars barely bruised
I'm puttin' motherfuckers on the Daily News
I was a gangsta from the get-go
Leavin' fags in bodybags with tags on they big toe
Thugs better scat when the gat goes click-clack
Or I'ma have your family dressed in all black
Thugs better scat when the gat goes click-clack
Or I'ma have your family dressed in all black
Thugs better scat when the gat goes click-clack
Or I'ma have your family dressed in all black
Thugs better scat when the gat goes click-clack
Or I'ma have your family dressed in all black
Yo, ever since I was young, I ripped mics and I killed beats
And I'm known to milk freaks and hit 'em on silk sheets
No dame can give me a bad name, I got mad fame
I'm quick to put a slug in a fag brain
I be placin' snitches inside lakes and ditches
And if I catch AIDS, then I'ma start rapin' bitches
I'm all about makin' papes, kid
I killed my mother with a shovel just like Norman Bates did
My old man in the past, stuck me up without a mask
Then his ass cold dashed with my cash fast
50 G's is what the creep stole, so, the next day
Knocked on his door and shot his granny through the peephole
That's the type of shit I'm on, word is bond
Got it goin' on, from the break of dawns to the early morn'
You know my style, I'm wild, comin' straight out of Harlem pal
It's Big L, the motherfuckin' problem child
Thugs better scat when the gat goes click-clack
Or I'ma have your family dressed in all black
Thugs better scat when the gat goes click-clack
Or I'ma have your family dressed in all black
Thugs better scat when the gat goes click-clack
Or I'ma have your family dressed in all black
Thugs better scat when the gat goes click-clack
Or I'ma have your family dressed in all black
This goes out to all y'all bitch-ass niggaz
So, if your mother ain't ready for a funeral, don't fuck with me
'Cause I know a good way to get your family together
And I ain't talkin' 'bout a reunion, motherfucker
Yo, I'm 'bout to sign out, but before I go
I gotta say peace to the NFL crew, you know who you are
And all y'all niggaz talkin' that gun shit
And won't bust a rhyme, stop fakin' the funk
Word, I'm 'bout to get up out of here
Yo, I'm out B, yo, peace man
I gotta get this money
So, all y'all niggaz on my hitlist, get your suits ready
Writer(s): Lamont Coleman, Robert A Hall
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