What’s That, f*ck That lyrics

by

The Notorious B.I.G.


Y'all muthaf*ckas is sadly mistaken
I think -
I don't really think y'all understand
What it is that I exactly do
I make joints for the radio
And all that, youknowmsayin?
But this is my sh*t right here, yo
We can just get right to it
Hope they can f*ck with it

[ VERSE 1 ]
I can make joints all day, never touch a average
Sauce, hot sh*t, ain't nothin but a marriage
Skills that I possess, n*ggas die to have it
Hip-hop muthaf*cka, I rap like a savage
Automatics for faggots who brag about fabrics
Mad blood on your carriage, no love for you addict
I roast all y'all n*ggas, homicide closed, die most
It's suicide f*ckin with me, try toast
f*ck cats talkin first class but fly coach
The laugh is over, Mr. Half-a-Soda
You're at your quota, I'm halfway to Minnesota
The seat 1a sippin a ice cold ??Momossa??
Never sober, when I awake I can make a wish
Head from the b*tch servant or steak and fish
Arouse my meat till I'm sound asleep
Gettin brain surgery at 33'000 feet
A n*gga knocked out till I hit the ground and creeped
Limo, five star hotel and a suite
Once earnin I come turnin for c*nt squirmin
b*tches who front learnin, yearnin to keep the blunt burnin
A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z #
Copyright © 2012 - 2021 BeeLyrics.Net