Music Video

Come On (feat. Sadat X) (2005 Remaster)
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Featured In

Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
The Notorious B.I.G.
The Notorious B.I.G.
Vocals
Sadat X
Sadat X
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Charles Aznavour
Charles Aznavour
Composer
Don Black
Don Black
Composer
Gerry Goffin
Gerry Goffin
Composer
Michael Masser
Michael Masser
Composer
Christopher George Latore Wallace
Christopher George Latore Wallace
Lyrics
Derrick Murphy
Derrick Murphy
Lyrics
Robert Hall Jr.
Robert Hall Jr.
Composer
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Cus
Cus
Mixing Engineer
Lord Finesse
Lord Finesse
Original Producer
Clark Kent
Clark Kent
Producer
Ben Allen
Ben Allen
Recording Engineer
Jim Janik
Jim Janik
Recording Engineer

Lyrics

: The Notorious B.I.G.] Nigga was Motherfuckin' hyped up Nigga just grabbed a nigga and snuffed a nigga And it was on from there wasn't nothing stopping him holmes (What did the rest of them niggas do) Them motherfuckers was ready for anything Them niggas was packing burners, niggas ready to fight with them Niggas doing what they had to do holmes Niggas on the real flip mode holmes Niggas coming out like a motherfucker Niggas was ancy like come on, come on, motherfuckers Come on, motherfuckers, come on Come on, motherfuckers, come on Come on, motherfuckers, come on Come on, motherfuckers, come on Come on, motherfuckers, come on Come on, motherfuckers, come on Come on, motherfuckers, come on Come on, motherfuckers, come on Let's go deep into the phrase, feel the sun rays Off the forehead, everything is real Biggie put me on this joint, so I'ma be the big wheel Watch it spin, hey dad, placed your bet on seven Peace to 106, 108, 110 and 111th Hey Biggie, I understand you're from Brooklyn With .22s in your shoes, yo, keep this joint cooking Well, why not blow up the spot with Sadat? Release the brainstorm to make your motherfucking brain warm A strange form, something kind of lyrical Biggie the bastard, Sadat's kind of spiritual Well, in God we trust, guns I bust Got that disgusting, sewer-style dumping And, uh, do you know where you're going to? Do you like the things that I bring? Make an MC wanna sing for a living Take the beatdown we fucking giving C'mon, motherfucker! Come on, motherfuckers, come on Come on, motherfuckers, come on Come on, motherfuckers, come on Come on, motherfuckers, come on Come on, motherfuckers, come on Come on, motherfuckers, come on Come on, motherfuckers, come on Come on, motherfuckers, come on What? Niggas want drama, putting work on my block When I told y'all last week that shit was too hot Selling deuces and treys cuts my dimes Somebody don't get paid, somebody's block get sprayed Reaction is delayed as ya run down the block Caught one in your chest, your breath come in spurts Hey yo, Biggie, tell these niggas I'ma hit 'em where it hurts The Big City, it don't spare no bodies Call me papi chulo, to all the Spanish mamis I'm about ten blunts down, drank three or four stouts Seen five fat asses, passed this bitch with glasses Hey, your money, that's your stock, yo bitch, pass the Glock I'ma tell them, "It can happen, don't play me with that rap shit" Life is real, so Biggie take the steel Come on, motherfuckers, come on Come on, motherfuckers, come on Come on, motherfuckers, come on Come on, motherfuckers, come on Come on, motherfuckers, come on Come on, motherfuckers, come on Come on, motherfuckers, come on Come on, motherfuckers, come on I got seven Mac-11's, about eight .38's Nine 9's, ten Mac-10's the shits never end You can't touch my riches Even if you had MC Hammer and them 357 bitches Biggie Smalls, the millionaire, the mansion, the yacht The two weed spots, the two hot Glocks Huh, that's how I got the weed spot I shot dread in the head, took the bread and the Lambsbread 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 weed 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 shit 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 fucking shit spill And I'm talking 'bout buckets, why did I have to do it? Sadat said fuck it, you got a gun, nigga bust it 'Cause I got mo' 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 nigga Come on, motherfuckers, come on Come on, motherfuckers, come on Come on, motherfuckers, come on Come on, motherfuckers, come on Come on, motherfuckers, come on Come on, motherfuckers, come on Come on, motherfuckers, come on Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Writer(s): Michael Masser, Don Black, Christopher Wallace, Charles Aznavour, Gerry Goffin, Robert Gall, Robert A Hall, Derek Murphy Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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