Ten Crack Commandments by The Notorious B.I.G.

One, two, three, four, five
Six, seven, eight, nine
It's the ten crack commandments, what?

Nigga can't tell me nothin' 'bout this coke
Can't tell me nothin' 'bout this crack, this weed
To my hustlin' niggaz, niggaz on the corner
I ain't forget you niggaz, my triple beam, niggaz, word up

One, two, three, four, five
Six, seven, eight, nine, ten

I 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 nombre 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 your ass stuck up

Number two, never let 'em know your next move
Don't you know Bad Boys move in silence
An' violence, take it from your highness
I done squeezed mad clips at these cats
For they bricks an' chips

Number three, never trust nobody
Your moms'll set that ass up, properly gassed up
Hoodie to mask up, shit, for that fast buck
She be layin' in the bushes to light that ass up

Number four, 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 crack head payin' you back, shit, forget it
Seven, this rule is so underrated
Keep your family an' business completely separated

Money an' blood don't mix like two dicks an' no bitch
Find yourself in serious shit
Number eight, never keep no weight on you
Them cats that squeeze your guns can hold jumps too

Number nine shoulda been number one to me
If you ain't gettin' bags, stay the fuck from police
If niggaz think you snitchin', they ain't tryna listen
They be sittin' in your kitchen, waitin' 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, twenty-four years on the wake up
Slug hit your temple, watch your frame shake up
Caretaker did your makeup when you pass

Your girl fucked my man, Jake up, heard in three weeks
She sniffed a whole half of cake up
Heard she suck a good dick an' can hook a steak up
Gotta go, gotta go, more pies to bake up, word up

Crack king, Frank Blizzard
One, two, three, four, five
Six, seven, eight, nine, ten

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Lyrics provided by Gracenote