text: Its cold outside 
  Uh, uh, its cold outside
  Bad boy, bad boy
  Uh, yeah
  Its cold outside
  Whats going on?
  What ya throwin on?
  Whats going on?
  What ya throwin on?
  Whats going on?
  What ya throwin on?
  Whats going on?
  What ya throwin on?
  Biggie Smalls, who you represent?
  The Brooklyn clique
  Where the boots is tied tight, and the jackets is thick
  Represent them thugs
  Not them shearling rugs
  Leathers that fasten
  Sean Combs be lasting
  1x to 5x, so no need for lost weight
  Affordable, way more cheaper than the North Face
  Flavors in the bubble-goose, so let your trouble loose
  So no-one be seeing them thugs thats demeaning
  The flavors in the city, its a pity
  Them other damn jackets dont fit me
  They just plain itty bitty
  Why cant a big guy stay fly?
  Listen up, Polo Grounds down to Bed-Stuy
  Stay fly in that Brooklyn Mint
  And heres the main reason
  Sitting in that jacket, man I know you be freezing
  Flavors in the vest
  Bulletproof on the chest
  Keep the burner on the waist
  And still dress to impress
  Whats going on?
  What ya throwin on?
  Whats going on?
  What ya throwin on?
  Whats going on?
  What ya throwin on?
  Whats going on?
  What ya throwin on?
  Yall should know this rap thing, I got it down to a size
  Big goose underneath it, thats the metal appliance
  And if we dont bust a cap on you so called gangsters
  Dont front, you a little bit scared now, aint ya?
  Now this is 05, its a brand new thing
  Bout time the rap game crowned a brand new king
  I been sitting here squadding on this Tidal belt
  When I drive it, watch how my rivals felt
  Its the second coming of Black, so run and get your raps
  And do a couple of dips, and run a few laps
  I stay in first place with the style of a Lear
  If you try to battle the kid you really gon need a
  Whole crew, not 2 man, 3 or 4
  You gon lead the whole posse, a masimore
  Even then B, aint no chance for ya
  You fucking round with the rap gargantuans
  Bad Boy, man easy pimp
  When Im dishing out the pain nobody exempt
  You was good til your scam uncovered
  Who the man in fatigues with the blicky?
  Thats the god, belove it
  And he cold like a bitchs heart
  Yeah he cold and ridges hard
  You dont want beef? Shit, dont start, man
  Its B. Rob, Im taking it back
  D got Kim with the product, we cookin crack
  Whats going on?
  What ya throwin on?
  Whats going on?
  What ya throwin on?
  Whats going on?
  What ya throwin on?
  Whats going on?
  What ya throwin on?
  Whats going on?
  What ya throwin on?
  Pop off till Im hard and grey
  Imma even see Al Green get shot down like Marvin Gaye
  No disrespect, pardon me
  Lotta dudes got locked down but few had heart to stay
  Puff couldnt take Marphs demay
  Sit your five-dollar ass before I make change, stay in your lane
  Cause only champs sip on pain
  You the type to like Piña Coladas, and getting caught in the rain
  Biggie Smalls, who you represent?
  The Brooklyn clique
  Where the boots is tied tight, and the jackets is thick
  Represent them thugs
  Not them shearling rugs
  Leathers that fasten
  Sean Combs be lasting
  1x to 5x, so no need for lost weight
  Affordable, way more cheaper than the North Face
  Flavors in the bubble-goose, so let your trouble loose
  So no-one be seeing them thugs thats demeaning
  Whats going on?
  What ya throwin on?
  Whats going on?
  What ya throwin on?
  Whats going on?
  What ya throwin on?
  Whats going on?
  What ya throwin on?
  Whats going on?
  What ya throwin on?