Who Shot Ya? lyrics

As we proceed to give you what you need

9-5, motherfuckers

Get live, motherfuckers

As we proceed to give you what you need

9-5, motherfuckers

Get live, motherfuckers

As we proceed to give you what you need

Now turn the mics up

East Coast, motherfuckers

Turn that mic up

Bad Boy, motherfuckers

Yeah, that beat is knocking to that microphone

Turn that shit the fuck up

Uh, what? Turn it up louder, yeah, uh

As we proceed to give you what you need

J.M. motherfuckers

J.M. motherfuckers

9-5, motherfuckers

[Verse 1]

Who shot ya? Separate the weak from the obsolete

Hard to creep them Brooklyn streets

It's on nigga, fuck all that bickering beef

I can hear sweat trickling down your cheek

Your heartbeat sound like Sasquatch feet

Thundering, shaking the concrete

Then the shit stop when I foil the plot

Neighbors call the cops, said they heard mad shots

Saw me in the drop, three and a quarter

Slaughter, electrical tape around your daughter

Old school/new school need to learn though

I burn, baby, burn like "Disco Inferno"

Burn slow like blunts with yayo

Peel more skins than Idaho Potato

Niggas know: the lyrical molesting is taking place

Fucking with B.I.G. it ain't safe

I make your skin chafe, rashes on them asses

Bumps and bruises, blunts and Land Cruisers

Big Poppa smash fools, bash fools

Niggas mad because I know that cash rules

Everything around me two Glock 9s

Any motherfucker whispering about mines

And I'm Crooklyn's finest

You rewind this, Bad Boy's behind this

[Interlude]

As we proceed to give you what you need

9-5, motherfuckers

Get live, motherfuckers

As we proceed to give you what you need

East Coast, motherfuckers

Bad Boy, motherfuckers

Get high, motherfuckers

Get high, motherfuckers

Smoke blunts, motherfuckers

Get high, motherfuckers

Ready to die, motherfuckers

9-5, motherfuckers

[Verse 2]

I seen the light excite all the freaks

Stack mad chips, spread love with my peeps

Niggas wanna creep, gotta watch my back

Think the Cognac and indo sack make me slack?

I switches all that, cocksucker G's up

One false move, get Swiss cheesed up

Clip to TEC, respect I demand it

Slip and break the 11th Commandment

Thou shalt not fuck with nor see Poppa

Feel a thousand deaths when I drop ya

I feel for you, like Chaka Khan I'm the don

Pussy when I want, Rolex on the arm

You'll die slow but calm

Recognize my face, so there won't be no mistake

So you know where to tell Jake, lame nigga

Brave nigga, turned front page nigga

Puff Daddy flips daily

I smoke the blunts he sips on the Baileys

On the rocks, tote Glocks at christenings

Hammer cock, in the fire position and...

[Outro]

Come here, come here, (It ain't gotta be like that, Big)

Open your fucking mouth, open your—didn't I tell you?

Don't fuck with me? (Come on, man)

Huh? Didn't I tell you not to fuck with me? (Come on, man)

Look at you now, huh? (Come on, man)

Can't talk with a gun in your mouth, huh?

Bitch-ass nigga, what? Who shot ya?

[6 gunshots]​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

[Outro: Puffy]

To give you what you need

9-5, motherfuckers

Get live, motherfuckers (who shot ya?)

Get high, motherfuckers

Ready to die, motherfuckers, hah!

As we proceed (who shot ya?)

To give you what you need

9-5, motherfuckers

East Coast, motherfucker (Who shot ya?)

West Coast, motherfuckers

West Coast, motherfuckers, hah!

As we proceed, to give you what you need

As we proceed to give you what you need

Get live, motherfuckers

9-5, motherfuckers

Get money, motherfuckers

As we proceed to give you what you need

Get live, motherfuckers

9-5, motherfuckers

J.M. motherfuckers

J.M. motherfuckers

As we proceeeeeeed to give you what you need… 9-5

• Artist:The Notorious B.I.G.
• Album:Ready to Die (1994)