paroles de chanson Who Shot Ya - Explicit Album Version - The Notorious B.I.G.

As we proceed to give you what you need
9-5, motherfuckers
Get live, motherfuckers
As we proceed to give you what you need
9-5, motherfuckers
Get live, motherfuckers
As we proceed to give you what you need
Now turn the mics up
East Coast, motherfuckers
Turn that mic up
Bad Boy, motherfuckers
Yeah, that beat is knocking to that microphone
Turn that shit the fuck up
Uh, what? Turn it up louder
Yeah, uh
As we proceed to give you what you need
J.M. motherfuckers
J.M. motherfuckers

Who shot ya? Separate the weak from the obsolete
Hard to creep them Brooklyn streets
It's on, nigga, fuck all that bickering beef
I can hear sweat trickling down your cheek
Your heartbeat sound like Sasquatch feet
Thundering, shaking the concrete
Then the shit stop when I foil the plot
Neighbors call the cops, said they heard mad shots
Saw me in the drop, three and a quarter
Slaughter, electrical tape around your daughter
Old school/new school need to learn though
I burn, baby, burn like "Disco Inferno"
Burn slow like blunts with yayo
Peel more skins than Idaho Potato
Niggas know: the lyrical molesting is taking place
Fucking with B.I.G. it ain't safe
I make your skin chafe, rashes on them asses
Bumps and bruises, blunts and Land Cruisers
Big Poppa smash fools, bash fools
Niggas mad because I know that Cash Rules
Everything Around Me two Glock 9s
Any motherfucker whispering about mines
And I'm Crooklyn's finest
You rewind this, Bad Boy's behind this

As we proceed to give you what you need
9-5, motherfuckers
Get live, motherfuckers
As we proceed to give you what you need
East Coast, motherfuckers
Bad Boy, motherfuckers
Get high, motherfuckers
Get high, motherfuckers
Smoke blunts, motherfuckers
Get high, motherfuckers
Ready to die, motherfuckers
9-5, motherfuckers

I seen the light excite all the freaks
Stack mad chips, spread love with my peeps
Niggas wanna creep, gotta watch my back
Think the Cognac and indo sack make me slack?
I switches all that, cocksucker G's up
One false move, get Swiss cheesed up
Clip to TEC, respect I demand it
Slip and break the 11th Commandment
Thou shalt not fuck with nor see Poppa
Feel a thousand deaths when I drop ya
I feel for you, like Chaka Khan I'm the don
Pussy when I want, Rolex on the arm
You'll die slow but calm
Recognize my face, so there won't be no mistake
So you know where to tell Jake, lame nigga
Brave nigga, turned front page nigga
Puff Daddy flips daily
I smoke the blunts he sips on the Baileys
On the rocks, tote Glocks at christenings
Hammer cock, in the fire position and...

Come here, come here, (It ain't gotta be like that, Big)
Open your fucking mouth, open your—didn't I tell you?
Don't fuck with me? (Come on, man)
Huh? Didn't I tell you not to fuck with me? (Come on, man)
Look at you now, huh? (Come on, man)
Can't talk with a gun in your mouth, huh?
Bitch-ass nigga, what? Who shot ya?

To give you what you need
9-5, motherfuckers
Get live, motherfuckers (who shot ya?)
Get high, motherfuckers
Ready to die, motherfuckers, hah!
As we proceed (who shot ya?)
To give you what you need
9-5, motherfuckers
East Coast, motherfucker (Who shot ya?)
West Coast, motherfuckers
West Coast, motherfuckers, hah!
As we proceed, to give you what you need
As we proceed to give you what you need
Get live, motherfuckers
9-5, motherfuckers
Get money, motherfuckers
As we proceed to give you what you need
Get live, motherfuckers
9-5, motherfuckers
J.M. motherfuckers
J.M. motherfuckers
As we proceeeeeeed to give you what you need... 9-5