The Notorious B.I.G. Machine Gun Funk

Tekst piosenki

[Verse 1]
So you wanna be hardcore
With your hat to the back
Talking about the gats in your raps
But I can’t feel that hardcore
Appeal that you’re screaming
Maybe I’m dreaming
This ain’t Christopher Williams, still some
MC’s got to feel one
Caps, I got to peel some
To let niggas know
That if you fuck with big-and-heavy
I get up in that ass like a wedgie
Says who – says me, the lyrical
Niggas saying: „Biggie off the street, it’s a miracle!”
Left the drugs alone, took the thugs along with me
Just for niggas acting shifty
Sticks and stones break bones, but the gat’ll kill you quicker
Especially when I’m drunk off the liquor
Smoking blunts by the boxes, packing Glocks
It’s natural to eat you niggas like chocolates
The funk, baby

[Hook]
„I live for the funk, I’ll die for the funk”

[Verse 2]
All I want is bitches, big-booty bitches
Used to sell crack, so I could stack my riches
Now I pack gats to stop all the snitches
From staying in my business, what is this, relentless
Approach to know if I’m broke or not
Just cause I joke and smoke a lot
Don’t mean I don’t tote the Glock
16 shots for my niggas in the pen
Until we motherfucking meet again
I’m doing rhymes now, fuck the crimes now
Come on the ave, I’m real hard to find now
Cause I’m knee-deep in the beats
In the Land Cruiser Jeep with the MAC-10 by the seats
For the jackers, the jealous-ass crackers in the *blue suits*
I’ll make you prove that it’s bulletproof
Hold your head, cause when you hit the bricks
I got gin, mad blunts, and bitches sucking dick
The funk, baby

[Hook]

[Verse 3]
So I guess you know the story, the rap-side, crack-side
How I smoked funk, smacked bitches on the backside
Bed-Stuy: the place where my head rests
50-shot clip if a nigga want test
The rocket launcher, Biggie stomped ya
High as a motherfucking helicopter
That’s why I pack a Nina, fuck a misdeameanor
Beating motherfuckers like Ike beat Tina
„What’s love got to do”?
When I’m ripping all through your whole crew
Strapped like Bamboo but I don’t sling guns
I got bags of funk and it’s selling by the tons
Niggas want to know how I live the mack life
Making money, smoking mics like crack pipes
It’s type simple and plain to maintain
I add a little funk to the brain
The funk, baby