text: Well its the Funk Docta Spock..
  Meth-Tical..
  Biggie.. Biggie.. 
  Uhh.. uhh.. uhh.. uhh..
  Fuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches
  The prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit
  Flooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches
  Smack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldnt have it
  So I grab it, never run, the outcome
  Is usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be
  Or where youre from, West or East Coast, squeeze toast
  Leave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?
  The rings and things you sing about, bring em out
  Its hard to yell when the barrels in your mouth
  Its more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented
  But they wasnt, so run it, cousin
  I could chill, the heat doesnt
  Ran up in your shell about a dozen, you never see bank like Frank White
  Your hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate
  You bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo hands high
  Yo.. yo yo
  I dont brown nose out of town hoes
  Im up around fo with the crowbar to the five point oh
  I get bagged, Im John Doe, suspect
  You ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes
  Explode the pyros when Doc guest appear
  Im out there, I bought it with George Jetson here
  Your time is near, so get your body dropped off
  I stopped trusting niggas since Gotti got caught
  Its Bricks, keep your wrist covered, Im piss colored
  By the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother
  I.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too
  I break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue
  The Doc was born with a grenade palm
  Im concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom
  Yo Biggie She havin my bay-bayy
  If I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high
  This rule is so underrated
  Actin as if it cant happen, youre frontin
  Aint no other kings in this rap thing
  Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon
  This rule is so underrated
  Actin as if it cant happen, youre frontin
  Aint no other kings in this rap thing
  Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon
  Uhh, uhh
  I got a new mouth to feed, Im due South with keys
  Yall pick seeds out yall weed, I watch cowards bleed
  Motherfucker please, its my block with my rocks
  Fuck that hip-hop, them one-twos, and you dont stops
  Me and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cease advance
  Bought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants
  From Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion
  Bitches get naked off Get Money, Players Anthem
  Dont forget, One More Chance and my other hits, other shit
  Niggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come naturally
  In and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me
  Make his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy
  Blastin me, your family, rest in coffins often
  Frank Wizzah, far from soft or fragilla
  Play hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer
  Slash guerilla, slash illest turned iller
  Now now
  Dont approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket
  I take these adolescents back to Spofford
  Mentally, my energy, is like a figure eight, on its side, thats infinity
  Too many sick niggas, nickel nines bring the remedy
  When you play the field, whats the penalty?
  Unnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers
  Stuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid
  Until they got love for my music
  Star Wars, Im Han Solo, with three egos
  And three charges, I got to See-three-P.O.s
  This is whoop-yo-ass-day, the sequel
  High bar flow-er with no equal
  Niggas swingin swords in the WAR, thats my people
  Sho nuff, before I roll up, this is a hold up
  Hands high, reach for the sky
  I rep S.I., the unpretty, word to Left Eye
  New York Shitty, put they weight on it
  And who better for the job than Biggie?
  The Notorious, Jeee-zus, Unbelievable rhyme that reaches
  And touch individual, small frame buck and change
  MC, Whats-Your-Name, tuck your chain
  All about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin
  Kick me when Im down, but Im up again, scorchin
  Hot — forcin my way up in the door
  To kill the bullshit like a matador
  Keep your hands high