Lyrics:
Big Pun baby
You miss me?
{See Pun gon' sing then he gon' rhyme}
{Let me lick you girl where the sun don't shine}
{I'm gon' sing Treach
cup
Big dick is back in town, yeah
Feel my energy, I got ya'll surrounded
Bet you're wondering where all that fuckin thunder was coming from
Tell 'em
goin'
Ain't no plans of stoppin'
Ain't no plans of slowin'
And it's still a Glock
But I still keep the drum right by my groin
Heard that he was hatin'
know, he don't know nothin' else
I tried to show 'em, yeah
I tried to show 'em, yeah, yeah
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Goin' on you with the pick and roll
Young
it out of state.
Cali-forn-ia
Big weight Drell in da A
Big skate bell full of hay
Bitch I'm like a snail in da race
The race to get slammed by da Jakes
bossin' it don't matter what it's costing
Tossing deuces out the roof, but that coupe
While I ride by, players chucking deuces back
Bobs holl'in out "hi"
the back alleys, to the Cali valleys
EPMD in effect, chilling as the scans tally
but I'm back in
I was born to have a pot, I could piss in
But, I ain't never even got it, since then
Yeah, my vision on swole like a big lens
I was out
back, haa
Got a flow like this, killin' it never miss, fuck a diss
I be goin' strong, y'all should know ya' can't fuck with this
Droppin' it, wick-wicked
and i'm coming with the big facts
Prayin every night but know I'm never getting bro back
Hate it's true that's no cap
If you aint riding think you better
goin ever catch me leechin off no ova nigga NoCap
I'm big bank you lil bank it aint shit to get ya ass wacked
We Rollin up and that shit stank backwood
like the back on Quasimodo's
Im California living you already know tho
Im authentic I need a crib big enough to get lost in it
A big bag big enough that
this bullshit, I feel like Michael Jordan
But I ain't trippin, I'm just soarin'
Open up the door and doing big touring
Fuck champagne, I'm back to 40 oz
raisin' hell
That Sunday morning, he picked up the phone
And as the phone was ringin'
Back home in church, a choir was singin'
I'M GOIN' HOME, for Mr.
Let me go right back to Cali
Like Biggie
The real gold coast of the west
No kidding
I'm like really
How many joints you gotta toke to get this silly
slang shots
Hit G spots by giving hoes back shots
I'm a young country boy, long socks with flip flops
But I pull up on your block in the 500 Benz drop
another show
When are ya comin' back to Cali?
Um, I think I got another week left here
I wish you'd meet me in New York, we could kick it
Alright, well,
the streets will catch you slipping, rock ya steady
Watch your back with your homies that you feel is real
Your homeboys from your crew, yeah them the ones
the black truck
Bullet proof masked up, big .38 back, back, boy, back up
Infidelity run through me mind like my last name motherfuckin' Castro
And the ice
cause you know I got a roll one
You and me, goin' fishin' in the dark lyin on our backs
And count the stars where the cool grass grows
Down by the river
I leave home
Cause got a little time
I got a little time
So let's do sum
Yeah I got time
Me I got time so lets do sum
Big back gyal, big back gyal
So
the monkey from off my back
15 cents minus 5 is a dime
Sexy young ladies, let's intertwine
Greg N-i-c-e ran it down the line-line
[ VERSE 2: Preacher
balls
Step without no money, can't talk to me, I'm a big boss
When I'm alone, I be thinkin' bout all the money
Guarantee I'm by my doley, cause niggas be
the weed spot, pounds of purp, bowl of cereal
Cartoons is on, my favorite shit is The Smurfs
Now I don't slip when I'm down in the dirt,
cause by this
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