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    J.t. The Bigga Figga / Lyrics

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    "Too Hot" Lyrics

    J.t. The Bigga Figga feat. Nas

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    Duration:00:03:07
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    Lyrics

    [Repeat: x2]
    "Niggas bit off Nas shit"
    "Admit it, you bit it"
    "Niggas bit off Nas shit, niggas, niggas, bit off, Nas shit"
    "Admit it, you bit it, bit it"

    You can be a ridah and ride, or a coward and hide
    Either way you go against me, you still gon' die
    I got four macs, a few nines, I'm ready for beef
    You wanna talk, it ain't about money, then let it be brief
    I need a drop for when it's a hot, a hummer for when it's cold
    An ill attorney's in my corner when these fake niggas fold
    The shit I kick fuck with niggas mentally, makes them wanna mention me
    And see me doing a quarter century in the penitentiary
    Nastradamus predicted 50's the future, that's a fact money
    I run up on your workers with the mac, like where that pack money
    I'm a tell y'all what papi told me
    I got what you need, 19,5 a key
    I stay catching a stunt, frontin' in somethin' mean
    And I'll clap any nigga for the right amount of cream
    Run up on them all with the same problem solver
    Beat up ass, tape on the handle, trey eight revolver
    What!

    [Chorus: x2]
    Project's too hot, niggas better hope we never hit rock
    'Cause then we gonna run up in your spot
    Screamin' get the fuck on the floor, give us the ro'

    Aiyyo, aiyyo, aiyyo, aiyyo
    I'm like sugar Shane Mosley, it ain't no beef
    You're staring, a ticket holder that sits in row three
    Next to Ron Artest and Kobe
    Yo I woulda went pro too, then I let them Phillies slow me
    I'm like a black man's asthma, seeking a pump
    Breathin' deeper when I'm creeping up
    Y'all need to fuck with the tightest, I stick niggas
    Encephalitis leavin' whole families in silence
    My virus is obvious, past on to most rap fiends
    Uncured, ain't no vaccine
    Last seen at the automatic teller machine, maxing out
    Or in the studio booth, blacking out
    It's con-ed style, real twisted, I disappear on some Blair Witch shit
    Comin' back I'm rich kid
    Either or, you can't stop me with my feet in the door
    Or walk away from the street or the morgue, play your part, nigga.

    Project's too hot, niggas better hope we never hit rock
    'Cause then we gonna run up in your spot

    "Niggas bit off nas"
    "Admit it, you bit it"
    "Tell these niggas somethin', God"

    What, yo
    I disturb niggas and white boys, with five pointed stars
    Tatted on they arms, pimp your moms, like I'm magic Don Juan
    From queens to Hong Kong, weed in the bong
    We smoke that, leave our minks on the coat rack
    Those that plot on me, nine times outta ten the nine is on me
    Feds search the god, but nothin' they find on me
    When I rap don't wait to clap applaud sooner
    Unless you hate a nigga like George Bush Jr., I bring awkward to you
    Porsche maneuvers through the city like new york sewers
    Stinkin' up the air, central park, horse manure
    Rims is 22 inches, Benz suspensions
    22 inch dick when I'm pimpin'
    Impotent you niggas get me sick, wanna be soundin' like
    You knowin' my arithmetic, but we don't sound alike
    50 cent with bravehearted, we ride to the grave depart us
    You fake niggas imitate what I started, let's go

    "Niggas bit off Nas shit"
    "Admit it, you bit it"
    "Niggas bit off Nas shit, niggas, niggas, bit off, Nas shit"
    "Admit it, you bit it, bit it"

    [Chorus]
    This song was submitted on November 21st, 2013 and last modified on November 24th, 2016.
    Copyright with Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC.
    Written by Artis L Ivey, Brian Dobbs, George Melvin Brown.
    Lyrics licensed by LyricFind.

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