The Notorious B.I.G./Sadat X - Come On (Unreleased Original Version) | Текст песни

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• The Notorious B.I.G./Sadat X
• Come On (Unreleased Original Version)

ntro]

[Hook 8x]
Come on, motherfuckers, come on

[samples play over second half of chorus]
"Man what you fuck doin over here?"
"Are you awake now?"
"Hell yah I'm awake man;
now tell me what the fuck is goin on here"
"Looks like the competition stopped by
to pay us a little visit, and check us out"

[Verse 1: Sadat X]
Let's go deep into the phrase, feel the sun rays
Off the baldhead, everything is real
Biggie put me on this joint, so I'mma 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

[Verse 2: Notorious B.I.G.]
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 emcee wanna sing for a living
Take the beatdown we fucking giving
C'mon, motherfucker!

[Hook]

[Verse 3: Sadat X]
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'mma 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'mma tell them, "It can happen, don't play me with that rap shit"
Life is real, so Biggie take the steel

[Hook]

[Verse 4: Notorious B.I.G.]
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 lamb's bread
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 emcees 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

[Hook]

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