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You know the type of girl that walks in front of you and makes your jaw drop? |
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She talks in riddles, and sort of tickles your soft spot |
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You see her in the club. She treats you like a scrub |
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She ain't trippin' off you, she got your whole crew in love |
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Your day dreamin' of getting her in the bedroom alone |
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Straight feedin', You's beg like a dog for the bone |
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And she's peepin', and the reason is she knows |
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Theres a demon in between your legs with a mind of its own |
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Now, you're a weakling, overwhelmed with hormones |
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Y'all start speakin', she grabs the number to your phone |
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And next weekend you invite her to your home |
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You weren't even thinking. You got played by a pro |
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She's a big shot. Thick lips, nice legs, green eyes |
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Took advantage of a thousand. Only slept with three guys |
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Ain't a hoe or a groupie. Jane Doe or a Lucy |
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Her innocent looks are deceving, so I'm telling you to be wise |
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I know she's a cutie, but there's power in that coochie |
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Underneath those booty tight, cutoff, daisy-dooksy Levi's |
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[chorus] |
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She's a big shot. You know your dream girl |
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She knows how to use her looks to take advantage of the world |
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She's a big shot. You thought you could school her |
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She dissed you like you were neutered, and told you to go get a sexual tutor |
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She's a big shot. She wouldn't touch your ruler |
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She's so beutiful. A cute but cruel looter, user and abuser |
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She's a big shot. Your eyes are glued to her behind |
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You know her steeze, but you fall for it every time |
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Now, what about that popular school kid? |
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The always have been, always will be cool kid? |
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The class president valedictorian. "A plus", star quaterback |
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Cadillac convertible drivin', signin' cheerleaders autorgraphs |
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The letter on the jacket. Medal around the neck |
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Pin on his chest, and mind on his rep |
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He only dates models. Drinks his Summit from the bottle |
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When he walks he waddles, and he ain't never lost a squabble |
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He put you in the locker, and took your girlfriend to prom |
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He's in your life everyday, and you can't wait 'til he's gone |
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But daddy owns a business, so it won't be long |
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Before he inherits it, makes carats, and sings a rich man's song |
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He's got the most expensive clothes and jewerly to wear |
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While your looking for a job, he's looking in the mirror |
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He walks the halls surrounded by is fan club |
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Starts fads, ends trends, and hits the ceiling when he stands up |
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He's a preppy, fame hoggin', pig headed fool |
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When he has a party, everyone's invited except you |
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And your crew. And there really ain't nothin' y'all can do |
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He's in every state, city, and town, as long as they got a school |
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[chorus] |
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He's a big shot. Thick knot in his wallet |
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Parents got enough money to send your whole family to college |
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He's a big shot. Testosterone thirsty |
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Hallway fahter figure with his masculianity stained on his jersey |
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He's a big shot. I.B. class whiz-kid |
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Braggin' about a big dick, that chick and this chick |
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He's a big shot.. |
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My favorites are rappers, the egoistical bastards |
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The people that never clap for your set, they think you're whacker |
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Than them 'cause they're the masters |
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I bet disaster is caused in their mind when you rhyme |
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And plaster their jaws shut with a fat verse |
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To him you're a hazard. Weak matter. A reason for laughter |
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He's preachin' he's live. But he's only that word backwards |
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After he dies, you can climb the ladder, start a chapter |
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Art you'll capture finally. |
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But while he breathes, m.c.'s don;t even flatter him |
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Add a tad if his acrobatical arrogance |
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To his genteically engineered emotional pattern of tearin' kids in battles |
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That'll explain why he mean mugs. He told ya' your team sucks |
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Said you dream of choking him with that mic cord |
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Instead, he blows your mind straight out your head |
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He says, "Fuck You!" with clarity. You cry hysterically |
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As it makes a parody of your passion |
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You tell friends you think he's tight |
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But secretly, you hope his career won't be lasting |
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'Cause he's an asshole. But you know he's got nice sound |
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You know what else? Your looking at him right now |
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[chorus] |
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I'm a big shot. Don't front, you know you love me |
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Girls never wash their hands after they get a chance to touch me |
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I'm a big shot. Hey, you can say I'm a creep |
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But put me in a room with your idols and I'll make 'em look weak |
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I'm a big shot. Shit, can nobody fade me |
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The only way we can do a song is if somebody pays me |
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I'm a big shot. Big Shot. Big Props |
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The best thing to ever happen in the history of hip hop |
