Here we go, come on
Here we go, come on
Here we go (here we go), come on
Here we go

I was a terror since the public school era
Bathroom passes, cutting classes, squeezing asses
Smoking blunts was a daily routine
Since 13, a chubby nigga on the scene
I used to have the trey-deuce
And the deuce-deuce in my bubble goose
Now I got the MAC in my knapsack
Lounging black, smoking sacks up in Ac's and Sidekicks
With my sidekicks rocking fly kicks
Honeys want to chat
But all we wanna know is where the party at
And can I bring my gat?
If not, I hope I don't get shot
Better throw my vest on my chest, 'cause niggas is a mess
It don't take nothing but fronting for me to start something
Bugging and bucking at niggas like I was duck hunting
Dumbing out, just me and my crew
'Cause all we wanna do is

And party and bullshit
And party and bullshit
And party and bullshit
And party and bullshit
And party and bullshit
And party and bullshit
And party and bullshit
And party and bullshit
And party and bullshit, and

Hugs from the honeys, pounds from the roughnecks
Seen my man Sage that I knew from the projects
Said he had beef, asked me if I had my piece
Sure do, two .22s in my shoes (no question)
Holler if you need me, love, I'm in the house
Roam and stroll, see what the honeys is about
Moët popping, ho hopping
Ain't no stopping Big Poppa
I'm a Bad Boy (that's right)
Niggas wanna front, who got your back? (Biggie)
Niggas wanna flex, who got the gat? (Biggie)
It ain't hard to tell, I'm the East Coast overdose
Nigga, you scared you're supposed to
Nigga, I toast ya, put fear in your heart
Fuck up the party before it even start
Pissy drunk, off the Henny and skunk
On some Brand Nubian shit beating down punks

And party and bullshit
And party and bullshit
And party and bullshit
And party and bullshit
And party and bullshit
And party and bullshit
And party and bullshit
And party and bullshit, and

Bitches in the back looking righteous
In a tight dress, I think I might just
Hit her with a little Biggie 101, how to tote a gun
And have fun with Jamaican rum
Conversation, blunts in rotation
My man Big Jock got the Glock in his waist and
We're smoking, drinking, got the hooker thinking
If money smell bad, then this nigga Big is stinkin'
Is it my charm? I got the hookers eating out my palm
She grabbed my arm and said, "Let's leave calm"
I'm hitting skins again
Rolled up another blunt, bought a Heineken
Niggas start to loc out, a kid got choked out
Blows was thrown and a fucking fight broke out

"Yo, chill, man, chill"

Can't we just all get along?
So I can put hickies on her chest like Little Shawn
Get her pissy drunk off of Dom Pérignon
And it's on, and I'm gone
That's that

And party and bullshit
And party and bullshit
And party and bullshit
And party and bullshit
And party and bullshit (yeah)
And party and bullshit (Junior M.A.F.I.A. like to)
And party and bullshit
And party and bullshit (Uptown likes to)
And party and bullshit
And party and bullshit (Bad Boy likes to)
And party and bullshit
And party and bullshit (Brooklyn Crew likes to)
And party and bullshit
And party and bullshit (3rd Eye likes to)

Copyright: BMG Rights Management, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, TuneCore Inc., Universal Music Publishing Group
Writer(s): Berry Gordy Jr, Bob West, Christopher Wallace, Hal Davis, Osten Harvey, Willie Hutch