Testo Player's Anthem - Junior M.A.F.I.A.
Testo della canzone Player's Anthem (Junior M.A.F.I.A.), tratta dall'album Conspiracy
Niggas (uh, Junior M.A.F.I.A.), uh
Bitches (uh), ha (uh), uh (blast that shit, son)
Niggas, grab your dick if you love hip-hop
(Bitches) rub your titties if you love Big Poppa
Got you open off the words I say because
This type of shit, it happens every day (check it out, uh)
Now, who smoke more blunts than a little bit?
What, are you an 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' shit
I make it happen, you got your ass caught
All you saw was fire from the Honda Passport
Or the M.P., what if you see, then I miss ya
I blow up spots like little sisters
Gwaan grit ya teeth, gwaan bite ya nails to the cuticles
Like Murray, my killings be the most beautiful
Junior M.A.F.I.A. clique thick like Luke dancers
Niggas grab your gats, bitches take a glance at
The little one, pullin' over in the Land Rover
Playin' Big Willie style with the chauffeur, you know what I mean?
Stack the green, read all between the lines
A nigga act up, makes the bastard hard to find
(Niggas) grab your dicks if you love hip-hop
(Bitches) rub your titties if you love Big Poppa
Got you open off the words I say because
This type of shit, it happens every day
(Niggas) grab your dicks if you love hip-hop
(Bitches) rub your titties if you love Big Poppa
Got you open off the words I say because
This type of shit, it happens every day
How're you livin' Biggie Smalls? I'm surrounded by criminals
Heavy rollers, even the sheisty individuals
Smokin' skunk and mad Phillies
Beatin' down Billy Badasses, cracks, and stacks in masses (uh-huh)
If robbery's a class, bet I pass it
Shit get drastic, I'm buryin' you bastards
Big Poppa never softenin'
Take you to the church, rob the preacher for the offerin'
Leave the fucker coughin' up blood and his pockets like rabbit ears
Covet the wife, Kleenex for the kid's tears
Versace wear, Moschino on my bitches
She's whippin' my ride, countin' my ones, thinkin' I'm richest
Just the way players play, all day, every day
I don't know what else to say
I've been robbin' niggas since Run and them were singin' "Here We Go"
Snatchin' 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 niggas who started rappin'
Junior M.A.F.I.A. steelo, niggas know the half (uh-huh)
Caviar for breakfast, champagne bubble baths
Runnin' up in pretty bitches constantly
The smalls, bitch, who the fuck it was supposed to be?
(Niggas) grab your dicks if you love hip-hop
(Bitches) rub your titties if you love Big Poppa
Got you open off the words I say because
This type of shit, it happens every day
(Niggas) grab your dicks if you love hip-hop
(Bitches) rub your titties if you love Big Poppa
Got you open off the words I say because
This type of shit, it happens every day
I used to pack Mac in Cadillacs
Now I pimp gats in the Ac's, watch my niggas backs
Nines in the stores, Glock's in the bags
Maxin' mini-markets, gettin' money with the Arabs
No question, confession, yes it's the lyrical (what? Who)
Bitches, squeeze your tits, niggas, grab your genitals
Proteins and minerals, exclude subliminal
Big Momma shoots the game to all you Willies and criminals
I kick the really 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 fuckin' nigga Biggie (what?)
Bitches love the way I bust a rhyme
'Cause they all in line screamin', "One more time"
(Niggas) grab your dicks if you love hip-hop
Bitches rub-a-dub in the back of the club, straight up (uh)
Credits
Writer(s): Andre Benjamin, Chad L. Butler, Bernard James Freeman, Antwan A. Patton, Willie M. Hutchison
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