Hah, sicka than your average poppa
Twist cabbage off instinct niggaz dont think shit stink
Pink gators, my Detroit players
Timbs for my hooligans in Brooklyn
Dead right, if they head right, biggie there every night
Poppa been smooth since days of underroos
Never lose, never choose to, bruise crews who
Do something to us, talk go through us
Girls walk to us, wanna do us, screw us
Who us? yeah, poppa and puff (ehehehe)
Close like Starsky and Hutch, stick the clutch
Dare I squeeze three at your cherry M-3
(take that, take that, take that, haha!)
Bang every MC easily, busily
Recently niggaz frontin aint sayin nuttin (nope)
So I just speak my piece, (c'mon) keep my piece
Cubans with the jesus piece (thank you God), with my peeps
Packin, askin who want it, you got it nigga flaunt it
That Brooklyn bullshit, we on it
[Chorus X2: *Sung to the tune of the Chorus of Slick Rick's 'Lod Dodi'*]
Biggie biggie biggie can't you see
Sometimes your words just hypnotize me
And I just love your flashy ways
Guess that's why they broke, and you're so paid (uh)
I put hoes in NY onto DKNY (uh-huh)
Miami, D.C. prefer Versace (that's right)
All Philly hoes, dough and Moschino (cmon)
Every cutie wit a booty bought a Coogi (haaaaah!)
Now who's the real dookie, meanin who's really the shit
Them niggaz ride dicks, Frank White push the sticks
On the Lexus, LX, four and a half
Bulletproof glass tints if I want some ass
Gon blast squeeze first ask questions last
That's how most of these so-called gangsters pass
At last, a nigga rappin bout blunts and broads
Tits and bras, menage-a-tois, sex in expensive cars
I still leave you on the pavement
Condo paid for, no car payment
At my arraignment, note for the plantiff
Your daughter's tied up in a Brooklyn basement (shhh)
Face it, not guilty, thats how I stay filthy (not guilty)
Richer than Richie, till you niggaz come and get me
[Chorus X2]
I can fill ya wit real millionaire shit (I can fill ya)
Escargot, my car go, one sixty, swiftly
Wreck it buy a new one
Your crew run run run, your crew run run
I know you sick of this, name brand nigga wit
Flows girls say hes sweet like licorice
So get with this nigga, its easy
Girlfriend here's a pen, call me round ten
Come through, have sex on rugs that's persian (that's right)
Come up to your job, hit you while you workin (uhh)
For certain, poppa freakin, not speakin
Leave that ass leakin, like Rapper Demo
Tell them hoe, take them clothes off slowly
Hit 'em wit the force like Obi, dick black like Kobe (Obi... Kobi)
Watch me roam like Gobe, lucky they don't owe me
Where the safe show me, homey.. (say what, homey)
Taken from AlbumSongAndLyrics.com[Chorus til fade].