Dirty B Side Lyrics - Da Brat

B Side, B side, ha, check it 

So So Def ... Bad Boy ... collaboration 

The Notorious BIG in the house 

We got Da Brat in the house 

And me, y'all know who I be 

Check it ... 

I got that shit all you niggas just love to ride to 

Funk for your trunk is what I provide you 

So slide through your hood with me in your deck 

Cause your correct way to get your groove on FLOMPS 

And I paid the costs to be the boss as a kid 

Fucked around and made some shit you can't fuck with 

They thought luck did it, but it didn't cause I'm back again 

Back with the Big and my new-found friend 

Sliding in from the front, never way behind 

Niggas wonder how I came with this style of mine 

Remain in your seats as I release the clip into yo' hip 

Brat and Biggie Smalls... 

Aw, shit! 

On top of all that, I'm so, so remarkable, 

Flow to make you motherfuckers know 

Ain't an MC coming close to touch 

Bitches I like to fuck, guns I like to bust, so... 

Lay on back, light up the blunts 

As we give you motherfuckers just what you want 

Lay on back, light up the blunts 

As we give you motherfuckers just what you want 

I never knew, niggas had a clue 

On who was the king of the street 

More deep than a Range Rover jeep, guns under the seat 

And my nigga just came home from work, release 

Cristal in my lap, chronic in the air 

(Brat: Nigga, pass that shit like you just don't care) 

Yeah, you on my shit list, Biggie burns spliffs 

when I'm pissed, release the Rolex from your wrist 

Nigga, no human being, Korean or European 

be seein' what Big be seein', I leave 'em peein' 

in they draws, because Biggie Smalls 

Is far from weak -- Brat-tat-tat, please speak ... 

(Brat: Nigga, close your eyes, cause you already see 

the Notorious B-R-A-T) 

The raw combination, the destination, 

Number one tote a gun with no hestiation 

Live with the funkdafied cutie pie 

Gat by the thigh, the Smalls by her side 

If you fuck with her you got to fuck with me 

And we'll be rapping at your motherfuckin' eulogy, so ... 

Lay on back, light up the blunts 

As we give you motherfuckers just what you want 

Brat-tat-tat-tat, please speak ... 

I got the funk in my pocket, shit stay locked down 

The nigga you know who represent them platinuim sounds 

Now baby Biggie, I done heard that Juicy 

Didn't find nuthin but truth, in the hook B 

You're pledging to wreck with a notorious nigga ready to die 

jump in the Benz, took me a little ride 

round the mountain, broke a left, hit SoSoDef 

and told the nigga JD I was the one, fuck the rest 

We Funkdafied, kicking it live 

Robin Leach teach a nigga how to really survive 

Whether it be track or blunt, ain't no need to front 

Got what you need, and I take everything you ever wanted, nigga 

We comin' mass, his pimpin' ass, his glass is full of Moet 

The Rolex is bar-bayed, parkade, B to the R-A, T 

Rolling off swoll on chrome 17 

Lay on back, light up the blunts 

As we give you motherfuckers just what you want 

Lay back, listen to the B-Side 

Slide, glide, do whatever you want 

Get out your lighters 

We be the rhyme writers 

Starters ... from the heart of College Park, 

New York, Chicago ... wherever you wanna go