Warning - Fun Lovin' Criminals

Who the fuck 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 BLEEP, Pop, from the barbershop

Told me he was in the gambling spot and heard the intricate plot

Of BLEEP wanna stick me like flypaper, neighbor

Slow down love, please chill, drop the caper

Remember them BLEEP from the hill up in Brownsville

That you rolled dice with, smoked blunts and got nice with?

Yeah my BLEEP Fame up in Prospect

Nah them my BLEEP nah love wouldn’t disrespect

I didn’t say them, they schooled me to some BLEEP

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, BLEEP tell me what you gonna do

Damn, BLEEP wanna stick me for my paper

They heard about the Rolex’s and the Lexus

With the Texas license plate 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

Frank, 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, BLEEP 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 Talons loaded in the clip

So I can rip through the ligaments

Put the fuckers in a bad predicament, where all the foul BLEEP went

Touch my Cheddar, feel my Beretta

Buck!

What I’ma hit you with you motherfuckers better duck

I bring pain, bloodstains on what remains

Of his jacket, he had a gun he shoulda packed it

Cocked it, extra clips in my pocket

So I can reload and explode on your asshole

I fuck around and get hardcore

C-4 to your door, no beef no more BLEEP

Feel the rough, scandalous

The more weed smoke I puff, the more dangerous

I don’t give a fuck about you or your weak crew

What you gonna do when Big Poppa comes for you?

I’m not running, BLEEP I bust my gun and

Hold on, I hear somebody coming

I’m only cornin' to pass the gat

(Just bring your motherfuckin' ass on, come on)

Are we gettin' close, huh?

(It's right over here)

Are you sure this MC Large’s crib man?

(Yeah I’m sure motherfucker, c’mon!)

Ahh fuck, it better be his motherfuckin' house

Fuck right here

This better be this motherfucker’s house

(Oh shit!) What, what’s wrong?

(What's that red dot on your head man!)

What red dot?

Oh shit!

You got a red dot on your head too!

Ohh shit!