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junior m.a.f.i.a. - player's anthem lyrics

[produced by dj clark kent]

[intro: the notorious b.i.g.]
n-ggas… uhh, b-tches… ha
uhh

[verse 1: lil’ cease]
now who smoke more blunts than a little bit?
what are you a idiot?
listen to the lyrics i spit like m1’s
got mad guns up in the cabin
cause cease ain’t the one for the dibbin’ and dabbin’ sh-t
i make it happen, you got your -ss caught
all you saw was fire, from the honda p-ssport
or the m.p., what if you see, then i miss ya
i blow up spots like little sisters
g’wan grit ya t–th, g’wan bite ya nails to the cuticles
like murray, my k!llings be the most beautiful
junior m.a.f.i.a. clique thick like luke dancers
n-ggas grab your gats, b-tches take a glance at
the little one, pullin’ over in the land rover
playin’ big willie style with the chauffeur, yaknahmean?
stack the green, read all between the lines
a n-gga act up, makes the b-st-rd hard to find

[chorus: the notorious b.i.g.]
(n-ggas) grab your d-ck if you love hip-hop
(b-tches) rub your t-tties if you love big poppa
gotcha, open off the words i say because
this type of sh-t it happens everyday
(n-ggas) grab your d-ck if you love hip-hop
(b-tches) rub your t-tties if you love big poppa
gotcha, open off the words i say because
this type of sh-t it happens everyday

[verse 2: the notorious b.i.g.]
(how ya livin’ biggie smalls?) i’m surrounded by criminals
heavy rollers, even the sheisty individuals
smokin’ skunk and mad phillies
beatin’ down billy bad-sses, cracks in stacks and m-sses
if robbery’s a cl-ss, bet i p-ss it
sh-t get drastic, i’m buryin’ ya b-st-rds
big poppa never softenin’
take you to the church, rob the preacher for the offering
leave the f-cker coughin’ up blood, and his pockets like rabbit ears
covet the wife, kleenex for the kid’s tears
versace wear, moschino on my b-tches
she whippin’ my ride, countin’ my one’s, thinkin’ i’m richest
just the way players play, all day everyday
i don’t know what else to say
i’ve been robbin’ n-ggas since
run and them was singin’ here we go
sn-tchin’ ropes at the roxy, homeboy, you didn’t know?
my flow, detrimental to your health
usually roll for self, i have son ridin’ shotgun
my mind’s my nine, my pen’s my mac-10
my target, all you wack n-ggas who started rappin’
junior m.a.f.i.a. steelo, n-ggas know the half
caviar for breakfast, champagne bubble baths
runnin’ up in pretty b-tches constantly
the smalls b-tch, who the f-ck it was supposed to be?

[verse 3: lil’ kim]
i used to pack macs in cadillacs
now i pimp gats in the ac’s, watch my n-ggas backs
nines in the stores, glocks in the bags
maxin’ mini-markets, gettin’ money with the arabs
no question, confession, yes it’s the lyrical
b-tches squeeze your t-ts, n-ggas grab your genitals
proteins and minerals, exclude subliminals
big momma shoots the game to all you w-ll–s and criminals
i kick the rilli with my peeps all day
325’s roll by with the windows down halfway
d-k-n-y, oh my, i’m jiggy
it’s all about the smalls and my f-ckin’ n-gga biggie
b-tches love the way i bust a rhyme
’cause they all in line screamin’ one more time
n-ggas, grab your d-cks if you love hip-hop
b-tches rub-a-dub in the back of the club, straight up

- junior m a f i a lyrics

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