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The Notorious B.I.G.( Notorious BIG )
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Ten Commandments
Lyricist:Chris Martin, Christopher Wallace
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine It's the ten crack commandments What, nigga can't tell me nothin' 'bout this coke Can't tell me nothin' 'bout this crack, this weed
To my hustlin' niggaz Niggaz on the corner I ain't forget you niggaz My triple beam niggaz, word up One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten
I been in this game for years, it made me a animal It's rules to this shit, I wrote me a manual A step by step booklet for you to get Your game on track, not your wig pushed back
Rule number uno, never let no one know How much, dough you hold, 'cause you know The cheddar breed jealousy 'specially If that man fucked up, get your ass stuck up
Number two, never let 'em know your next move Don't you know Bad Boys move in silence or violence Take it from your highness I done squeezed mad clips at these cats for they bricks and chips
Number three, never trust nobody Your moms'll set that ass up, properly gassed up Hoodie to mask up, shit, for that fast buck She be layin' in the bushes to light that ass up
Number four, know you heard this before Never get high on your own supply Number five, never sell no crack where you rest at I don't care if they want a ounce, tell 'em bounce Find more lyrics at ※ Mojim.com
Number six, that god damn credit, dead it You think a crack head payin' you back, shit forget it Seven, this rule is so underrated Keep your family and business completely separated Money and blood don't mix like two dicks and no bitch Find yourself in serious shit
Number eight, never keep no weight on you Them cats that squeeze your guns can hold jobs too Number nine, shoulda been number one to me If you ain't gettin' bags stay the fuck from police If niggaz think you snitchin' ain't tryin' listen They be sittin' in your kitchen, waitin' to start hittin'
Number ten, a strong word called consignment Strictly for live men, not for freshmen If you ain't got the clientele say hell no 'Cause they gon' want they money rain sleet hail snow
Follow these rules, you'll have mad bread to break up If not, twenty-four years, on the wake up Slug hit your temple, watch your frame shake up Caretaker did your makeup, when you pass
Your girl fucked my man Jake up, heard in three weeks She sniffed a whole half of cake up Heard she suck a good dick and can hook a steak up Gotta go, gotta go, more pots to bake up, word up
Crack king, Frank Whi'zza One, two, three, four, five One, two, three, four, five One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten
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