Bad Boy Records - Warning lyrics

[Produced by Easy Mo Bee] [Notorious B.I.G.] Who the f** is this? Paging me at 5:46 In the morning, crack of dawn and Now I'm yawning, wipe the cold out my eye See who's this paging me and why? It's my n***a, Pop, from the barbershop Told me he was in the gambling spot and heard the intricate plot Of n***as wanna stick me like flypaper, neighbor Slow down love, please chill, drop the caper [Pop] Remember them n***as from the hill up in Brownsville That you rolled dice with, smoked blunts and got nice with? [Notorious B.I.G.] Yeah my n***a Fame up in Prospect Nah them my n***as nah love wouldn't disrespect [Pop] I didn't say them, they schooled me to some n***as That you knew from back when, when you was clocking minor figures Now they heard you're blowing up like nitro And they wanna stick the knife through your windpipe slow So, thank Fame for warning me cause now I'm warning you I got the Mac, n***a tell me what you gonna do [Notorious B.I.G.] Damn, n***as wanna stick me for my paper Damn, n***as wanna stick me for my paper Damn, n***as wanna stick me for my paper Damn, n***as wanna stick me for my paper [Pop] They heard about the Rolexes and the Lexus With the Texas license plates out of 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 [Notorious B.I.G.] Call the coroner! There's gonna be a lot of slow singing and flower bringing If my burglar alarm starts ringing What ya 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 trying to drop my decimals Damn, n***as 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 with ya, see your picture Now they wanna grab they guns and come and get ya Bet ya 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**ers in a bad predicament, where all the foul n***as went Touch my cheddar, feel my Beretta Buck! What I'mma hit you with you motherf**ers better duck I bring pain, bloodstains on what remains Of his jacket - he had a gun he shoulda packed it co*ked it, extra clips in my pocket So I can reload and explode on you ra**hole I f** around and get hardcore C-4 to your door, no beef no more n***a Feel the rough, scandalous The more weed smoke I puff, the more dangerous I don't give a f** about you or your weak crew What you gonna do when Big Poppa comes for you? I'm not running, n***a I bust my gun and Hold on, I hear somebody coming