i got seven Mac 11's, about eight 38's, nine 9's, ten Mac 10's, the shits never ends You can't touch my riches, even if you had MC Hammer and them 357 bitches Biggie Smalls, the millionaire, the mansion, the yacht The two weed spots, the two hot Glocks That's how I got the weedspot I shot dread in the head, took the bread and the Lamb spread Little Gotti got the shotty to your body So don't resist, or you might miss Christmas I tote guns, I make number runs I give mc's the runs drippin' When I throw my clip in the AK I slay from far away Everybody hit the D-E-C-K My slow flow's remarkable, peace to Matteo Now we smoke weed like Tony Montana sniffed the yayo That's crazy blunts, mad L's My voice excels from the avenue to jail cells Oh my God, I'm droppin shit like a pigeon I hope you're listenin, smackin' babies at they christening. R.I.P Biggie ♡