10 Crack Commandments Songtext
von The Notorious B.I.G.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9
It′s the ten crack commandments, what?
Nigga can't tell me nothing about this coke
Can′t tell me nothing about this crack
This weed, for my hustlin' niggas
Niggas on the corner, I ain't forget you niggas, my triple beam niggas
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

I′ve been in this game for years, it made me a animal
There′s rules to this shit, I wrote me a manual
A step-by-step booklet for you to get
Your game on track, not your wig pushed back

Rule number uno, never let no one know
How much dough you hold 'cause you know
The cheddar breed jealousy ′specially
If that man fucked up, get yo' ass stuck up

Number two, never let ′em know your next move
Don't you know bad boys move in silence and violence?
Take it from your highness (uh-huh)
I done squeezed mad clips at these cats for they bricks and chips


Number three, never trust nobody
Your moms′ll set that ass up, properly gassed up
Hoodied and masked up, shit, for that fast buck
She be laying in the bushes to light that ass up

Number four, I know you heard this before
Never get high on your own supply
Number five, never sell no crack where you rest at
I don't care if they want a ounce, tell 'em bounce

Number six, that goddamn credit? Dead it
You think a crackhead paying you back, shit, forget it
Seven, this rule is so underrated
Keep your family and business completely separated
Money and blood don′t mix like two dicks and no bitch
Find yourself in serious shit

Number eight, never keep no weight on you
Them cats that squeeze your guns can hold jums too
Number nine, shoulda been number one to me
If you ain′t gettin' bagged, stay the fuck from police (uh-huh)
If niggas think you snitchin′, they ain't trying to listen
They be sittin′ in your kitchen, waiting to start hittin'


Number ten, a strong word called consignment
Strictly for live men, not for freshmen
If you ain′t got the clientele, say, "Hell no!"
'Cause they gon' want they money rain, sleet, hail, snow

Follow these rules, you′ll have mad bread to break up
If not, 24 years on the wake up
Slug hit your temple, watch your frame shake up
Caretaker did your makeup, when you passed
Your girl fucked my man Jake up
Heard in three weeks, she sniffed a whole half a cake up
Heard she suck a good dick, and can hook a steak up
Gotta go, gotta go, more pies to bake up, word up, uh

Crack King, Frank Wiz-zhite
(1, 2, 3, 4, 5-)
1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 2, 3, 4, 4, 5
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10