B-I-G P-O-P-P-A

mase-feels-so-good

The numbers agree: Now, who’s hot, who not? Tell me who rock, who sell out in the stores? You tell me who flopped, who copped the blue drop? Whose jewels got rocks, who’s mostly Dolce down to the tube sock? The same old pimp Mase, you know ain’t nothing change but my limp. Can’t stop till I see my name on a blimp. Guarantee a million sales call it level up. You don’t believe in Harlem World, nigga, double up. We don’t play around, it’s a bet, lay it down. Niggas didn’t know me 91, bet they know me now. I’m the young Harlem nigga with the Goldie sound. Can’t no Ph.D. niggas hold me down. Cudda schooled me to the game, now I know my duty. Stay humble, stay low, blow like Hootie. True pimp niggas spend no dough on the booty. And when you yell, “there go Mase!” there go your cutie.

I don’t know what they want from me. It’s like the more money we come across, the more problems we see.

I’m the D to the A to the D-D-Y. Know you’d rather see me die than to see me fly. I call all the shots, rip all the spots, rock all the rocks, cop all the drops. I know you thinking now when all the balling stops. Nigga never home, gotta call me on the yacht. 10 years from now we’ll still be on top. Yo, I thought I told you that we won’t stop. Now what you gon’ do with a crew. That got money much longer than yours and a team much stronger than yours. Violate me, this’ll be your day, we don’t play. Mess around, be D.O.A, be on your way ’cause it ain’t enough time here, ain’t enough lime here for you to shine here. Deal with many women but treat dimes fair and I’m bigger than the city lights down in Times Square.

I don’t know what they want from me. It’s like the more money we come across, the more problems we see.

B-I-G P-O-P-P-A. No info for the DEA. Federal agents mad cause I’m flagrant. Tap my cell and the phone in the basement. My team supreme, stay clean triple beam lyrical dream, I be that cat you see at all events bent gats in holsters, girls on shoulders. Playboy, I told ya, mere mics to me. Bruise too much, I lose too much. Step on stage, the girls boo too much. I guess it’s cause you run with lame dudes too much. Me lose my touch? Never that! If I did, ain’t no problem to get the gat. Where the true players at? Throw your rolies in the sky, wave ’em side to side and keep your hands high. While I give your girl the eye, player, please, lyrically, niggas see B.I.G be flossing, jig on the cover of Fortune, 5 double O. Here’s my phone number, your man ain’t got to know I got the dough, got the flow down pizat, platinum plus like thizat, dangerous on trizacks. Leave your ass flizat.

I don’t know what they want from me. It’s like the more money we come across, the more problems we see.

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B-I-G P-O-P-P-A