Biggie, Biggie, Biggie - Saint Louis Art Museum

Mark Bradford, American, born 1961; Biggie Biggie Biggie, 2022; permanent wave end papers, electrophotographic print paper, and acrylic paint on canvas; 72 x 84 x 1 1/2 inches; Los Angeles County Museum of Art, Modern and Contemporary Art Council, 2002 Art Here and Now Purchase 2023.237; © Mark Bradford

Gallery Text

Mark Bradford,
born Los Angeles, CA 1961

Biggie, Biggie, Biggie, 2002
permanent wave end papers, electrophotographic print paper, and acrylic paint on canvas

Black, cream, peach, and yellow rectangles dance in rhythmic patterns across a green background. Mark Bradford created this composition from translucent endpapers for treating hair, burning the edges of the papers for more definition.
In examples like this, Bradford has described achieving an almost off-beat rhythm by arranging colors, forms, and textures to show repetition and deconstruction.

The title of this work, Biggie, Biggie, Biggie, pays tribute to The Notorious B.I.G. (1972-1997) by both quoting the chorus from his 1997 song “Hypnotize” and referencing one of the rapper’s aliases. Bradford has praised the “raw in-your-face insistence” of Biggie’s early music and has cited it as an inspiration for his own artistic practice.

Los Angeles County Museum of Art, Modern and Contemporary Art Council, 2002 Art Here and Now Purchase 2023.237

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Listen to “Hypnotize” by The Notorious B.I.G

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LYRICS / “Hypnotize” by The Notorious B.I.G

Explicit language contained in the lyrics below.

Uh (uh), uh (uh), uh (c’mon)

Ha, sicker than your average
Poppa twist cabbage off instinct
Niggas don’t think shit stink
Pink gators, my Detroit players
Timbs for my hooligans in Brooklyn (that’s right)
Dead right, if the head right, Biggie there e’ry night
Poppa been smooth since days of Underoos
Never lose, never choose to, bruise crews who
Do somethin’ to us (come on), talk go through us (through us)
Girls walk to us, wanna do us, screw us
Who us? Yeah, Poppa and Puff (hehe)
Close like Starsky and Hutch, stick the clutch
Dare I squeeze three at your cherry M-3 (take that, take that)
Bang every MC easily, busily (take that, haha)
Recently, niggas frontin’ ain’t sayin’ nothin’ (nothin’)
So I just speak my piece, keep my piece (come on, now)
Cubans with the Jesus piece, with my peeps (thank you, God)
Packin’, askin’, “Who want it?” (who want it?)
You got it, nigga, flaunt it
That Brooklyn bullshit, we on it

Biggie, Biggie, Biggie, can’t you see?
Sometimes your words just hypnotize me
And I just love your flashy ways
Guess that’s why they broke, and you’re so paid (uh)
Biggie, Biggie, Biggie (uh-huh), can’t you see? (Uh)
Sometimes your words just hypnotize me (hypnotize)
And I just love your flashy ways (uh-huh)
Guess that’s why they broke, and you’re so paid (ha)

I put hoes in NY onto DKNY (uh-huh)
Miami, D.C. prefer Versace (that’s right)
All Philly hoes know it’s Moschino (c’mon)
Every cutie wit a booty bought a Coogi (ha)
Now who’s the real dookie? Meanin’, who’s really the shit?
Them niggas ride dicks, Frank White push the six
Or the Lexus, LX, four and a half
Bulletproof glass, tints if I want some ass
Gon’ blast, squeeze first, ask questions last (haha)
That’s how most of these so-called gangsters pass (bye-bye)
At last, a nigga rappin’ bout blunts and broads
Tits and bras, ménage à trois, sex in expensive cars
I still leave you on the pavement
Condo paid for (uh-huh), no car payment (uh-uh)
At my arraignment, note for the plaintiff
Your daughter’s tied up in a Brooklyn basement
Face it, not guilty (shh)
That’s how I stay filthy (not guilty)
Richer than Richie, ’til you niggas come and get me (come on)

Biggie, Biggie, Biggie, can’t you see?
Sometimes your words just hypnotize me
And I just love your flashy ways
Guess that’s why they broke, and you’re so paid (uh)
Biggie, Biggie, Biggie (uh-huh), can’t you see? (Uh)
Sometimes your words just hypnotize me (hypnotize)
And I just love your flashy ways (uh-huh)
Guess that’s why they broke, and you’re so paid (uh)

I can fill ya wit’ real millionaire shit (I can fill ya)
Escargot, my car go one-sixty, swiftly (come on)
Wreck it, buy a new one
Your crew run-run-run, your crew run-run
I know you sick of this, name brand nigga wit’
Flows, girls say he’s sweet like licorice (uh-huh)
So get with this nigga, it’s easy (uh-huh)
Girlfriend, here’s a pen, call me ’round ten (ten)
Come through, have sex on rugs that’s Persian (that’s right)
Come up to your job, hit you while you workin’ (uh)
For certain Poppa freakin’, not speakin’
Leave that ass leakin’, like rapper demos (ha)
Tell them hoes, take they clothes off slowly (slowly)
Hit ’em wit’ the force like Obi (Obi)
Dick black like Toby (Toby)
Watch me roam like Romey (Romey)
Lucky they don’t owe me
Where the safe? Show me (say what?)
Homie (homie)

Biggie, Biggie, Biggie, can’t you see?
Sometimes your words just hypnotize me
And I just love your flashy ways
Guess that’s why they broke, and you’re so paid (uh)
Biggie, Biggie, Biggie (uh-huh), can’t you see? (Uh)
Sometimes your words just hypnotize me (hypnotize)
And I just love your flashy ways (uh-huh)
Guess that’s why they broke, and you’re so paid (uh)

Biggie, Biggie, Biggie, can’t you see?
Sometimes your words just hypnotize me
And I just love your flashy ways
Guess that’s why they broke, and you’re so paid

Source: LyricFind

Songwriters: Andy Armer / Christopher Wallace / Deric Micheal Angelettie / Ron Badazz / Ronald Anthony Lawrence / Sean Combs