Warning lyrics

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Who the fuck is this?
pagin me at 5:46 in the morning crack a dawn and
now I'm yawnin, wipe the cold out my eye
see who's this pagin me and why..
It's my nigga Pop from the barbershop
told me he was in the gamblin spot and heard the intricate plot
>some niggaz wanna stick you like fly paper neighbour
slow down love please chill drop the caper
>remember them niggaz from the hill up in Brownsville?
>that you rolled dice wit
>smoked blunts and got nice wit
yeah my nigga Fame up in Prospect
nah dem my niggaz nah love wouldn't disrespect
>I didn't day dem, they schooled me to some niggaz
>that you knew from back when,
>when you was clockin minor figures
>Now they heard you blowin up like nitro
> and they wanna stick the knife
>through your windpipe slow...so..
>thank Fame for warnin me cuz I'm warnin you
>I got the mac Biggie
>tell me what you wanna do...

[CHORUS]
Damn niggas wanna stick me for my paper

[VERSE 2]
>They heard about the Rolex's and the Lexus
>wit the Texas license plates outta state
>they heard about the pounds
>you got down in Georgetown
>now they heard you got half of Virginia locked down
>they even heard about the crib
>you bought your mom in south Florida
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>the fifth corridor....
Call the coroner
there's gonna be alot of slow singin
and flower bringin
if my burgular alarm starts ringin
whatcha think all the guns is for?
all purpose war got the rottweilers by the door
and I feed em gun powder so they can devour
The criminals tryin to drop my decimals
DAMN.. niggaz wanna stick my for my C.R.E.A.M.
and the interdream things ain't always what it seems
It's the ones that smoke blunts witcha
see your picture, now they wanna
grab they guns and come and getcha
Betcha Biggie won't slip
I got the calico with the black talions loaded in the clip
So I can rip through the ligaments
Put they fuckers in a bad prediciment
where all the foul niggas went
Touch my cheddar, feel my Beretta
Fuck with what I had you with
you motherfuckers betta duck
I bring pain, blood stains on what remains
of his jacket, he had a gun he should've packed it
Cocked it, extra clips in my pocket
so I can reload and explode down ya rasshole
I fuck around and get hardcore, C-4 to ya door no beef no more(nigga)
Feel the rush, scandalous
The more weed smoke I puff, the more dangerous
I dont give a fuck about you or your weak crew
What you gonna do when Big Poppa comes for you
im not runnin, nigga I bust my gun in
Hold on I hear somebody comin...

Writer(s): Osten Harvey, Hal David, Christopher Wallace, Burt Bacharach
Copyright: Big Poppa Music, Justin Combs Publishing Company Inc., Emi April Music Inc., New Hidden Valley Music Company, Casa David Music
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