miss my boy and my crib...

Where brooklyn at, where brooklyn at, where brooklyn at, where brooklyn at! we gon do it like this anytime you ready check it.
I got seven mack elevens, about eight thirty eights, nine nines, ten mack tens, the sh*ts never end. You cant touch my riches even if you had MC Hammer and them 357 b**ches. Biggie Smalls, the millionaire, the masion, the yacht, the crew weed spots, the two hot glochs, thats how i got the weed spot. i shot dread in the head, put the bread in the lamb spread. Little gotti got the shotti to ya body, so dont resist or ya might miss Christmas. I tote guns, I make number ones, I give MC's the runs drippin', when I throw my clip in the AK I slay from far away everybody hit the D-E-C-K. My slow flows remarkable peace to Matteo, now we smoke weed like Tony Montana sniffs the yayo thats crazy blunts, mad L's my voice excels from the avenue to jail cells oh my gosh im droppin sh*t like a pigeon I hope you listenin' smackin' baby's at they christenin'.