The Notorious B.I.G.: Who Shot Ya? [Lyrics]

“The greatest rapper of all time died on March 9th.”  Canibus uttered those words on “2nd Round Knockout” back in 1998.  March 9 will be upon us next week so the net will be flooded with Big Poppa tributes, mixtapes, fan remixes, video clips, etc.  I’m pretty sure the KN crew will cook up something as well.

“Who Shot Ya?” is a suppose diss/mocking of 2-Pac after he was shot in New York, but Puff and B.I.G. denied the accusation.  It has been reported and talked about hundreds of times over the years (and pointed out in Notorious) that the song was record prior to Pac‘s shooting.  Who knows?

I remember grabbing the maxi single from Sam Goody when it dropped and wore this song out.  B.I.G‘s menacing rhymes along with Puff‘s on point ad-libs over David Porter‘s often used “I’m Afraid the Masquerade is Over” sample equals classic song.  Hit the cut for the lyrics.

Lyrics from OHHLA

Verse One:

“Who shot ya?
Separate the weak from the ob-solete
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
Finish it, stop, when I foil the plot
Neighbors call the cops said they heard mad shots
Saw me in the drop, three in the corner
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 ya-yo
Peel more skins than Idaho potato
Niggaz know, the lyrics molestin is takin place
Fuckin with B.I.G. it ain’t safe
I make your skin chafe, rashes on the masses
Bumps and bruises, blunts and Landcruisers
Big Poppa smash fools, bash fools
Niggaz mad because I know that Cash Rules
Everything Around Me, two glock nines
Any motherfucker whispering about mines
And I’m, Crooklyn’s finest
You rewind this, Bad Boy’s behind this”

Verse Two:

“I seen the light excite all the freaks
Stack mad chips, spread love with my peeps
Niggaz wanna creep, got ta watch my back
Think the Cognac and indo sack make me slack?
I switches all that, cock-sucker 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 raw C-Poppa
Feel a thosand 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 Bailey’s
on the rocks, tote glocks at christenings
Hammer cocked, in the fire position and…”