Gimme The Loot Lyrics

Gimme The Loot lyrics

Intro:  

  

 Yeah. Motherfuckers better know... huh  huh. Lock your windows   

 close your doors. Biggie Smalls  huh...yeah.  

  

 Verse One:  

  

 My man Inf left a Tec and a nine at my crib  

 Turned himself in  he had to do a bid  

 A one to three  he be home the end of '93  

 I'm ready to get this paper  G  you with me?  

  

 Motherfucking right  my pocket's looking kind of tight  

 and I'm stressed  yo Biggie let me get the vest  

  

 No need for that, just grab the fucking gat  

 The first pocket that's fat the Tec is to his back  

 Word is bond, I'm a smoke him yo don't fake no moves (what?)  

 Treat it like boxing: stick and move, stick and move  

  

 Nigga, you ain't got to explain shit  

 I've been robbin motherfuckers since the slave ships  

 with the same clip and the same four-five  

 Two point-blank, a motherfucker's sure to die  

 That's my word, nigga even try to bogart  

 have his mother singing "It's so hard..."  

  

 Yes, love love you're fucking attitude  

 because the nigga play pussy that's the nigga that's getting screwed  

 and bruised up from the pistol whipping  

 webs on the neck from the necklace stripping  

 Then I'm dipping up the block and I'm robbing bitches too  

 up the herring bones and bamboos  

 I wouldn't give fuck if you're pregnant  

 Give me the baby rings and a #1 MOM pendant  

  

 I'm slamming niggaz like Shaquille, shit is real  

 When it's time to eat a meal I rob and steal  

 'cos Mom Duke ain't giving me shit  

 so for the bread and butter I leave niggaz in the gutter  

 Huh, word to mother, I'm dangerous  

 Crazier than a bag of fucking Angel Dust  

 When I bust my gat motherfuckers take dirt naps  

 I'm all that and a dime sack, where the payback?  

  

 Verse Two:  

  

 Big up, big up, it's a stick up, stick up  

 and I'm shooting niggaz quick if you hiccup  

 Don't let me fill my clip up in your back and head piece  

 The opposite of peace sending Mom Duke a wreath  

 You're talking to the robbery expert  

 Stepping to your wake with your blood on my shirt  

 Don't be a jerk and get smoked over being resistant  

 'cos when I lick shots the shits is persistent  

  

 Huh, goodness gracious the papers  

 Where the cash at? Where the stash at?  

 Nigga, pass that before you get your grave dug  

 from the main thug, .357 slug  

 And my nigga Biggie got an itchy one grip  

  

 One in the chamber, 32 in the clip  

 Motherfuckers better strip, yeah nigga peel  

 before you find out how blue steel feel  

  

 from the Beretta, putting all the holes in your sweater  

 The money getter motherfuckers don't have better  

 Rolex watches and colourful Swatches  

 I'm digging in pockets, motherfuckers can't stop it  

  

 Man, niggaz come through I'm taking high school rings too  

 Bitches get stripped down for they earrings and bangles  

 and when I rock her and drop her I'm taking her door knockers  

 And if she's resistant "baka! baka! baka!"  

  

 So go get your man bitch he can get robbed too  

  

 Tell him Biggie took it, what the fuck he gonna do?  

  

 I hope apologetic or I'm a have to set it  

 and if I set it the cocksucker won't forget it  

  

 Verse Three:  

  

 Man, listen all this walking is hurting my feet  

 But money looks sweet (where at?) in the Isuzu jeep  

  

 Man, I throw him in the Beem, you grab the fucking C.R.E.A.M  

 and if he start to scream "bam! bam!", have a nice dream  

 Hold up, he got a fucking bitch in the car  

 Fur coats and diamonds, she thinks she a superstar  

  

 Ooh Biggie, let me jack her, I kick her in the back  

 Hit her with the gat...  

  

 Yo chill, Shorty, let me do that...  

 Just get the fucking car keys and cruise up the block  

 The bitch act shocked, gettin shot on the spot  

 (Oh shit! The cops!) Be cool, fool  

 They ain't gonna roll up, all they want is fucking doughnuts  

 (So why the fuck he keep lookin?) I guess to get his life tooken  

 I just came home, ain't trying to see Central Booking  

 Oh shit, now he lookin in my face  

 You better haul ass 'cos I ain't with no fucking chase  

 So lace up your boots, 'cos I'm about to shoot  

 A true motherfucker going out for the loot