Warning

Written by：Burt Bacharach/The Notorious B.I.G./Hal David

Who the f**k is this?

Pagin me at 5:46

In the mornin,

Crack of dawn an'

Now I'm yawnin wipe the cold out my eye

See who's this pagin me and why

It's my ni**a Pop from the barbershop

Told me he was in the gamblin spot,

And heard the intricate plot

Of niggaz wanna stick me like flypaper neighbor

Slow down love, please chill,

Drop the caper

Remember them niggaz from

The hill up in Brownsville?

That you rolled dice wit,

Smoked blunts, and got nice wit

Yeah my ni**a Fame up in Prospect

Nah they're my niggaz nah love wouldn't disrespect

I didn't say dem, they schooled me to some niggaz

That you knew from back when,

When you was clockin minor figures

Now they heard you blowin up like nitro

And they wanna stick the knife

Through your windpipe slow

So thank Fame for warnin me cause

Now I'm warnin you

I got the mac ni**a tell me what you gonna do

Damn! Niggaz wanna stick me for my paper

Damn! Niggaz wanna stick me for my paper

Damn! Niggaz wanna stick me for my paper

Damn! Niggaz wanna stick me for my paper

They heard about the Rolex's and the Lexus

With the Texas license plates outta state

They heard about the pounds

You got down in Georgetown

And they heard you got half

Of Virginia locked down

They even heard about the crib

You bought your moms out in Florida

The fifth corridor

Call the coroner!

There's gonna be a lot of slow singin,

And flower bringin

If my burgular alarm starts ringin

Whatcha think all the guns is for?

All purpose war, got the Rottweilers by the door

And I feed 'em gunpowder,

So they can devour

The criminals, tryin to drop my decimals

Damn! Niggaz wanna stick me for my cream

And it ain't a dream,

Things ain't always what it seem

It's the ones that smoke blunts witcha,

See your picture

Now they wanna grab

They guns and come and getcha

Betcha Biggie won't slip

I got the calico with the black

Talons loaded in the clip

So I can rip through the ligaments

Put the f**kaz in a bad predicament,

Where all the foul niggaz went

Touch my cheddar, feel my Beretta

Buck what I'm a hit you

With you motherf**kers betta duck

I bring pain, blood stains on what remains

Of his jacket he had a gun he shoulda packed it

Cocked it, extra clips in my pocket

So I can reload and EXPLODE on your asshole

I f**k around and get hardcore

C-4 to ya door no beef no more ni**a

Feel the rough, scandalous

The more w**d smoke I puff,

The more dangerous

I don't give a f**k about you or your weak crew

What you gonna do when Big Poppa come for you?

I'm not runnin, ni**a I bust my gun in

Hold on, I hear somebody comin

I'm only comin to pass the gat

Just bring your motherf**kin a** on, come on

Are we gettin close, huh?

It's right over here

Are you sure this Biggie Smalls crib man?

Yeah I'm sure motherf**ker, c'mon!

Ahh f**k it better be his motherf**kin house

F**k right here.

This better be this motherf**ker's house

Oh sh*t! What, what's wrong?

It's that red dot on your head man!

What red dot? Oh sh*t!

You got a red dot on your head too!

Ohh sh*t!