gimme the loot lyrics – notorious b.i.g.


yeah. motherf*ckers 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?

motherf*cking 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 f*cking 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

n*gg*, you ain’t got to explain sh*t
i’ve been robbing motherf*ckers since the slave ships
with the same clip and the same four-five
two point-blank, a motherf*cker’s sure to die
that’s my word, n*gg* even try to bogart
have his mother singing “it’s so hard…”

yes, love love you’re f*cking att*tude
because the n*gg* play p*ssy that’s the n*gg* 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 b*tches too
up the herring bones and bamboos
i wouldn’t give f*ck if you’re pregnant
give me the baby rings and a #1 mom pendant

i’m slamming n*gg*s like shaquille, sh*t is real
when it’s time to eat a meal i rob and steal
‘cos mom duke ain’t giving me sh*t
so for the bread and b*tter i leave n*gg*s in the gutter
huh, word to mother, i’m dangerous
crazier than a bag of f*cking angel dust
when i bust my gat motherf*ckers take dirt naps
i’m all that and a dime sack, where the paper at?

[verse two:]

big up, big up, it’s a stick up, stick up
and i’m shooting n*gg*s 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 sh*ts is persistent

huh, goodness gracious the papers
where the cash at? where the stash at?
n*gg*, p*ss that before you get your grave dug
from the main thug, .357 slug
and my n*gg* biggie got an itchy one grip

one in the chamber, 32 in the clip
motherf*ckers better strip, yeah n*gg* peel
before you find out how blue steel feel

from the beretta, putting all the holes in your sweater
the money getter motherf*ckers don’t have better
rolex watches and colourful swatches
i’m digging in pockets, motherf*ckers can’t stop it

man, n*gg*s come through i’m taking high school rings too
b*tches 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 b*tch he can get robbed too

tell him biggie took it, what the f*ck he gonna do?

i hope apologetic or i’m a have to set it
and if i said it the c*cksucker 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 f*cking c.r.e.a.m
and if he start to scream “bam! bam!”, have a nice dream
hold up, he got a f*cking b*tch 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 f*cking car keys and cruise up the block
the b*tch act shocked, getting shot on the spot
(oh sh*t! the cops!) be cool, fool
they ain’t gonna roll up, all they want is f*cking doughnuts
(so why the f*ck he keep looking?) i guess to get his life tooken
i just came home, ain’t trying to see central booking
oh sh*t, now he looking in my face
you better haul *ss ‘cos i ain’t with no f*cking chase
so lace up your boots, ‘cos i’m about to shoot
a true motherf*cker going out for the loot

/ notorious b i g lyrics