Oh My Lord - Junior M.A.F.I.A., The Notorious B.I.G., Special Ed

Why niggas wanna clock me?

Like that dance called the Tati

Don’t they know I break motherfuckers into parts like Rocky

Part I, part II, part III, niggas can’t fuck with me

My style’s knock-kneed plum crazy (what?)

Who’s that wild ass motherfucker catchin' wreck

Stickin' Jamaicans for sound sets outside discotheques

It’s Klep the death specialist, Stallone and Stone shit

Stayin' high representin' for the nine-quint

Ras bad guy, burns the house down like Left Eye

Why try mimic?

MC’s get broke like speed limits (uhh)

Niggas can’t fuck with my metaphors

Canin' MC’s like they in Singapore;

Klep been through more wars

Than Gump or Shore, put together catchin' leathers

On the regular, got that net, push me round and Dread stressin' a

Trick ho, what the Dread won’t know won’t hurt

Robbin his workers for they work;

now, WHOSE TURF IS THIS?

It’s Klep’s, the clothes wreckers'

Life interceptor, pussy collector

Got your bitch on my dick and I ain’t even stressin' her

Check enough sex in her, my styles are regular

Junior M.A.F.I.A.

clique moves in like the settlers

Niggas say «Oh my lord!»

Throw gats to Giuliani

Flows tighter than pigeon punani, try me, die G

Dangerous, since my daddy bust me out

The tip of his dick, Biggie Smalls with the wickedest shit

Spit clips, niggas split like bananas

Flavor like Tropicana;

orange, mango, peach

I strangle each -- negro for they dough

Niggas get to bendin', got two cases, one pendin'

560 V-12 engine, women spinnin'

In 929 Mazda’s, Tammy and Natasha

The ménage à trois around my way

Like Ill and Al Skratch smokin' 50 sacks in the back of Ac’s

Windows cracked, so sit back relax

Yo Vec, crush the hash, the Beretta’s in the stash

Niggas say «Oh my lord!»

Niggas say «Oh my lord!»

Niggas say «Oh my lord!»

Niggas say «Oh my lord!»

What you doin' with yourself?

Stone heart’s the way to wealth

Indecisive thoughts make sentences get dealt

Money makes the world go round, robbin' shit

Fuck a job shit, niggas want cribs, bricks and spliffs

All-wheel automobiles, traction control

For clay roads, rollin' with dough, kickin' game

On the cell with bitches on hold, that’s how we roll (uhh)

Rhymes now tight as hell so to the bank I stroll (uhh)

Money on my mind, open lips from my eyes

Reveal pupils shaped like dollar signs --

-- the world is mine!

Niggas frontin', feelin' twelve gauge pellets

B.I.G.

is repellent, to all that «He say, she say»

We play, Russian roulette, fuck the threat

Your whole crew’s vagina, you and your co-signer

Nigga, we rollin' in eight and a halfs, TV’s in the dash

Three G’s in the stash, see we love the cash

More coke to make some more

Niggas say «Oh my lord!»

Niggas say «Oh my lord!»

Niggas say «Oh my lord!»

Niggas say «Oh my lord!»

Niggas don’t know bout my game, they don’t know

How complex it is, baggin' bitches in GS 300 Lexuses

And the sex is for summer sports

Passports for drug transports to remote resorts

Bitches with Donna Karan «Catwoman» suits, matchin' figure boots

Haircut cute, on tops and garters like prostitutes

My lyrics explicit

Got bitches bringin' they own condoms on the first visit

If Biggie bring big bowls of beef

Backin' bitch niggas down, burners bring bundles of belief

Common thief, slash drug chief, syndicated

Went from 10 K, to 24 K and motherfuckers hate it

J.M. sedated, quarantined (uhh)

B.I.G.

for President, buckin' shots past the spleen

9 millimeter dream, MAC-11 nightmares

Electric chairs, which MC’s do you fear?

Big Poppa, Junior M.A.F.I.A., nuff said

Niggas disrespect just are dead…