"J.O.S.E."

[talking]
Aiyyo Crack, these niggaz is playin mad childish games
Niggaz act like it's a rap..
Yeah it's a rap, for y'all motherf-rr-uckers
Niggaz replacin the 'G' in gangsta, with PR's and W's
Pranksta wanksta-ass niggaz
You know roses on caskets of those that oppose the squadus
Fuck tri-borough, we reppin five borough
Get at these niggaz straight music!

[Fat Joe]
Yo, Friday night, woke up in a cold sweat
I can't believe niggaz schemin on Jo-seph
Nah man, this ain't the way it's goin down
Niggaz talk too much shit, and I jump like the sound
They fear my presence like the rest of them
Jose's the bettin informer, flesh-n-blood like the president
Now maybe I'm a target on the pedastal
Got a little fame now, niggaz wanna harm me for my revenues
Start ya little beef, that's the shit I love to eat
I been a soldier, you a son, be a humble seed
My own niggaz let them hoes make 'em envy
Posin like they friendly when I'm knowin they resent me
That's the shit that get me aggrevated
It be the same niggaz in ya face talkin bout "I'm glad ya made it"
Fake niggaz.. Jers' State niggaz..
Funny how cake can make ya learn to hate niggaz
You've now tuned in to the sounds of Jose
Where we push sex, money, drugs, and violence all day
Mostly heard in penals and project hallways
And by niggaz blowin trees out the back of O.J.'s

[Hook]
(J) These jealous niggaz is worse than bitches!
(O) The ones that get knocked is bound to turn snitches!
(S) Still talkin shit, still ain't shit!
(E) You envious niggaz can suck my dick!

[talking]
(J) Hahaha, ohhh, now y'all feelin the kid
(O) Yeah nigga, South Boogie ain't goin nowhere
(S) Don Squad-agena, Terror Squad that is
(E) Blaze niggaz over beats, in the streets
Joe Crack gon' hold that down
You seen the kid up in the clubs; BET, MTV,
on yo' block, on my block, however you wanna fuckin slice it
Bastards, POOF!!

Uh.. uh.. uh.. uh..
Uh.. uh.. uh.. uh..

"King Of N.Y."
(feat. Buju Banton)

[Saya]
An' bamba clad boy feel dem bobbin try an' test now!
Is that? Cut off dem blood-clot nigga don't give a fuck!
Watta feel like? Don't know how to kill?

[Khalid] Uh-uh.. Saya, Saya!!
[Saya] What is it Khalid, what is it?
[Khalid] The original King of New York has returned
The King of New York, the Don Cartagena
Joe Crack, Terror Squad leader!
(Whoo.. whoo, whoo, whoo, whoo, whoo, whoo!!)

[Fat Joe]
The fuck?! What?!
Yeah, mind on my money; money on my mind
Nigga mind on my money; money on my mind

Aiyyo, who can test I, the true King of N.Y.
Well ever since Big Boy died from Bed-Stuy
I've been, controllin the street, holdin the heat
Shit I only want what's stolen from me (Nah you ain't fuckin wit us)
Rollin with me, could only get you fast cars and
Fuck mad bitches and, dine amongst the stars,
but we gettin mad chave in the life we live
MTV's comin over just to feel my "Crib"
Man fuck them other kids! That's how I feel
I thought I said it all in "He's Not Real"
But you beggin me to kill, must want ya brain spilled
I tryna keep cool but it's hard to tame still
Shit's still real man you never shoulda bought it
Must feel ill to see your boss get extorted
Specialize in audits and makin hot tapes
This rap shit don't cut it then it's back to flippin weight
Man I'm feelin great (Whoo!) Pushin mad units
Hustlin is the key to success but could you do it
I been layin it down, the spray and the town
It's about time the rightful owner claimed his crown

[Chorus: Buju Banton + Fat Joe]
[BB] Who the fuck you know be fuckin with this?!
As Big Pun's knowin you'll be givin a shit!
[FJ] Not a damn soul! I let you know from the get go!
Wanna war with the Squad, walk through the threshold!
[BB] Who the fuck you know be fuckin with this?!
As Big Pun's knowin you'll be givin a shit!
[FJ] Not any squad or clique can squab with this!
Shit I'm O.G. nigga y'all know how this is!

[Fat Joe]
Hey yo, it's all over, I want a piece of the pie
Nigga hand it over or all your seeds gon' die
And it don't take much for me to kidnap a DJ
Or clap at ya truck while you ridin through the freeway
Shit is mad ea-say to wet you up
Betta, watch yo' bitch and who's dick she sucked
She gon', set you up, I been to the crib
I don't know why you surprised bitches love the kid
I'm more realer than the way you act
A born killer quick to wave the mack
And all you niggaz gotta face the fact
I pop shit cuz you can't stop me
More rich cuz they can't rob me
I plant clips at ya fam's lobby
Joe the Don and you been warned
But niggaz never wanna listen till they kin's gone
Now you wanna get it on cuz ya dollars stack
Now how you plan to holla back with a hollow back?
Joey Crack and I be the truth
Don't believe that's the streets till proof
Ask the deez how my Eagle blew
Betchu sayin, "Damn, what we did to duke?!"
Better gather them young'ns and hope you make it through

[Chorus 2x]

The Don is the King of New York..
The Don is the King of New York...

"Opposites Attract (What They Like)"
(feat. Remy Martin)

Let's go..

"Got another hit, of fresh air!!"
"Oooooh, got another hit!"

[Fat Joe]
Platinum chains, down to my dick
I'm so sick, like flames, light up ya bitch
Get it hot like 'dro, and firin and pink slips
You at the club alone now she hidin in my whip (But kick it)
I know just what you need; you need to fuck with me
Cuz when you ballin with Joey you in another league
Somethin like Doji, Chloe diamonds, and better weed
I'm four-wheelin through roads you mighta never seen
Take you on trips, you know the minimal shit, the basic
Long as your dip is official, if we're twistin you lace it
Spit it amazin when I'm layin the mack game
I could, put 'em in chains and give 'em blings and cashy rings
Like delicious, thug passionate candy cane
Know you could, stay witcha mayne and just (?)
I ball with the best of them, flossin the emblem
First playa front get applause from T.S. and them (Clap my niggaz)

[Hook - Fat Joe + Remy Martin]
[FJ] I know what bitches like (What?)
They wanna live it live
They want a nigga with eight figures that can give 'em ice
They wanna chill up in Villa with me every night
[RM] Yeah pa you got it right
That's what my bitches like
But I know what niggaz like (What?)
They wanna hit it right
They want a chick that's willin to strip on the first night (True)
The type of chick that'll make you forget about ya wife
[FJ] Yeah ma you got it right
That's what my niggaz like

[Remy Martin]
I pull up to the club in the truck
Like what, the FUCK, IS UP!
I stay out with the blunt, cuz I don't give a fuck
With, L-I-D niggaz, know who I be
And I know what niggaz like, niggaz like me
Pretty Remy on the rocks in the V.I.P.
See, niggaz like menages and overnight parties
Butt naked bitches in the hotel lobby
I plays the bar cuz they don't charge me
Plus niggaz like dogs to broads in white T's
Outside it's a fight over me
Cuz I'm with niggaz like, "Yeah, you better get it right"
"You know my shit is tight"
If you live we'll be fuckin today, as long as you ain't
Touchin my pay, this shit is nothin to me
I got my mind right, my money right, I'm pushin a Benz
Plus I'm a dime like (Whoa!) Got niggaz lookin for Rem'

[Hook: Fat Joe + Remy Martin]
[RM] I know what niggaz like (What?)
They wanna hit it right
They want a chick that's willin to strip on the first night (True)
The type of chick that'll make you forget about ya wife (C'mon)
[FJ] Yeah ma you got it right
That's what my niggaz like
I know what bitches like (What?)
They wanna live the life
They want a nigga with eight figures that can give 'em ice
They wanna chill up in Villa with me every night
[RM] Yeah pa you got it right
That's what my bitches like

[Fat Joe]
You know a lot mama
How be take a nice cruise to the Ba-ha-mas
With ice daquiris and jewels, picture
Just me and you under the palm trees
Up on the beach in your bikini and we feelin the breeze

[Remy Martin]
But baby, I know just what you need
You need some Hennessey (Uh-huh)
And in a minute we'll finish it with a little me
Sex into sleepin on bedsheets outta Italy
Then send yo' ass back home without no energy

[Fat Joe]
Yo, after I take you on a night on the town
We could, slide to the telly when nobody's around
The next-door neighbors complainin because they hearin the sound
[Both] It's goin down da-down da-down, da-da-da-da-da-da down

[Hook - Fat Joe + Remy Martin]
[FJ] I know what bitches like (What?)
They wanna live it live
They want a nigga with eight figures that can give 'em ice
They wanna chill up in Villa with me every night
[RM] Yeah pa you got it right
That's what my bitches like
But I know what niggaz like (What?)
They wanna hit it right
They want a chick that's willin to strip on the first night (True)
The type of chick that'll make you forget about ya wife
[FJ] Yeah ma you got it right
That's what my niggaz like

Hit.. got another hit
Hit.. got another hit
Hit.. got another hit
Hit.. got another hit
Hit.. got another hit

"Definition Of A Don"
(feat. Remy Martin)

Yeah.. Definition of a Don
It's like I gotta keep remindin you and remindin you
Who's that nigga.. You heard the kid
Fly was on the casket of all those who appose the squadus
It's the motherfuckin Don Cartagena ya heard
What?!

[Chorus: Remy Martin]
They wanna know why ya name is Joey Crack
You a hustler, how they think you got the stacks? (Uh)
You stuck being in jacks on the blocks witcha paps (Yeah)
And the Squad to hard niggaz gotta fall back (Tell 'em)
Damn papi, you're shit is icey now (Uh-huh)
In the Bronx witcha Benz rims pokin out (Ten mil)
You got the niggaz in the pen straight loc'in out
But when the don is on nigga close ya mouth

[Fat Joe]
Yeah, yo
You wouldn't understand my story of life I live
Most niggaz that really know me got life as bids
The trife as kids, this ain't no Scarface shit
These niggaz really will kill you, your wife, and kids
I walked through many blocks niggaz couldn't stand on
Had shit locked before I had a glock to even put my hands on
Before I had the dough to put my fams on
Before I had rocks sealed in pink tops, tryna get a gram off
A wild adolescent, raised by the street
Mesmorized by the dealers and the places they eat
And when they blazed the heat, I was the shorty to take the handoff
Run upstairs, tryna sneak the gat past grandmoms
This is how it should be done... my life...
Is identical to none, son tryed to duplicate but I knew he was fake
Cuz everytime I walked by he turned blue in the face
I'm like heavy on the leg when I pop
All my change is like heavy on the weight when I cop
It's just the way it's done
Niggaz tell me they respect the way I blaze them guns
On hold it down for the Bronx in the name of Pun

[Chorus]

[Fat Joe]
Yeah uh, my name ring bells like a P.O.
Put the pressure on a nigga like I'm right atcha do'
With the muzzle out, nigga can't shoke with my dough
I'm at his mothers house
Beat up his pops, put the pistol in his brother's mouth
Wave bricks, whips... jerked a few coke and next play the strip
with chrome knowin that they won't forget
And on the weekends we shut down clubs
You know them crazy Peurto Ricans always fuckin it up!
If I can't afford it, I'ma extort it
If I can't cut it, I'ma bake it
Strip you niggaz butt-naked, I'm a thoroughbred
Carry guns and pump heroin
Never went O.T. I'm too light for Maryland
I'd rather play the streets of New York
Where the fiends are guarunteed to keep the meat on my fork
I'm just a hustler - feds put the tap
on our phones in hopes of cuffin us
Then wonder why we livin life so illustrious

[Chorus repeat 2x]

"My Lifestyle"

[background]
(Ya'll wanna live my lifestyle
Never seen a brick, never seen a crackhouse
Wanna a war with the Don have your techs out
Bring it on, and I'ma show you gangsta)

[lapses over]
Yeah...ughh...right back at you motherfuckers....ughh...yeah..

[Verse 1]
Yo, Yo, I stand alone in this cold world, could you believe that?
I've seen some good men get blown over G-packs
In the Bronx where it's known to hear the heat clap
And live niggaz get it on with the D-techs, SHIT, my life's legendary
If I wrote down all in a book it would be very scary
What you know 16 be missin' Benzes
Rope chain down to my dick, the beef looks tremendous
Me and my niggaz flip holes in bitches
Back then, when I wouldn't even pose for bitches
A-YO, you can ask dapadan who was the man
Back in 88, every other week tricked 30 grand
Even my bitches wore Gucci and Louie
My peeps already in the crowd looking for groupies to screw me
Exit the club, about to cruise up the block now
with the taj, stay frontin' with top down
See me in that new thing with my fiancee
Ass so fat, making you say "Muchos GRANDE"
Don't blame me, blame them, the white folk
for giving me ten mil, for possessin' the tight flow
WHOA

[Chorus: repeat 2X]
Ya'll wanna live my lifestyle
Never seen a brick, never seen a crackhouse
Wanna a war with the Don have your techs out
Bring it on, and I'm show you gangsta

[Verse 2 (lapse over chorus)]
Yeah, yeah, uh, yo, blow half your head off, leave you with brain damage
He got his shit rocked cause he didn't pay homage
It's the Don of this rap shit, go on with that wack shit
Heard you walked the dorm in a thong on your last bid
Joey Crack is, the most official
Toke the pistol for those who appose the issue
I hope I convinced you to back up, really you acted up, believe me
I could EASILY GET YOUR ASS TOUCHED
And that sucks, ain't nobody could fuck with this
Bullet shook could make you take a bucket of piss
For runnin' your lips
Got the fifth stuck in your ribs, don't make me...
splash your lungs right in front of your kids
I'm a basketcase, don't ever give this bastard space
or I'ma have your ass erased
I'm from the Bronx amongst corrupt cops, we mothered this rap shit
But still don't get enough props
All I hear is "Gangsta" you ain't build like that
Don't make me have to pull a tool and really tilt your cap
I'm from crills to crack
You've been dealin' with rap
You ain't never run the streets, now I'm revealing your act
What the fuck

[Chorus: repeat 2X]
Ya'll wanna live my lifestyle
Never seen a brick, never seen a crackhouse
Wanna a war with the Don have your techs out
Bring it on, and I'm show you gangsta

"We Thuggin"
(feat. R. Kelly)

[Fat Joe (R. Kelly)]
(Ooohhh, mmm)
Yea, uh, uh (Fat Joe and the R)
That shit y'all (Breakin shit down)
Shake that, funky, funky, funky (Yeah)
Sticky, icky, icky - yeah uh
I got that shit y'all
I got that shit y'all
Uh yo yo

[Fat Joe]
Crackman and I'm at it again
Niggas had they run, now it's time for change
When we step in the club, nigga tuck ya chain
Got the mink on - same color the Range
Uh, pour liqour for my nigga that's gone
Big Pun! Then we party like we just came home
Fuck a bitch if she act to grown
I don't need that shit, I got my wife at home
Uh words slurrin, dirty urine
Drunk off of Henny and the 'jo keep burnin
Dancin with shorty and her friend keep flirtin
I don't always crush two but tonight seems certain
Party hard like "Fuck all y'all!"
Bottles in the air like we stuck up the bar
Terror Squad man you know who we are
Cruise through ya block and them drop-top Bentley's is ours

[Chorus - R. Kelly]
Yeah, we thuggin, rollin on dubs and,
Off up in the club, whylin like what
Got Cris' on pop, Henny wit no chaser, mami don't stop
Throwin up six o'clock, plus I got four hun-nies in the drop
And my man Joe's got the keys to the spot
And it's full with hunnies, panties with no tops
We take a puff of 'dro be-atch

[Fat Joe]
Yea uh, yea yea yo
Everybody wanna know where the crib's at
Niggas just now gettin ice, so we get that
Mami starin at me like she wanna get kidnapped
Money lookin happy with his wife but we triz that
Along with Lisa, Aisha, Shonda, Renee
Even ran through the dorms down in Morgan State
In Miami, pool-party off the chain
Gettin brains in the water on Memorial Day
Uh, grand-mami all cool and shit
It's ya birthday, show me what I'm foolin with
Like no doubt, pokin doll out, pull ya g-string down south
Owww! Pass that, give shorty a shot
True enough we gon' see if she naughty or not
I'm on E feelin ready and hot
I give 'em twenty a pop, leave the panties atop

[Chorus - R. Kelly]

[RK] Fat Joe, R. Kelly we pop up
[FJ] Yeah, Terror Squad, Rockland what the fuck what
[RK] Fat Joe, R. Kelly we pop up
[FJ] Uh, uh, Rockland, Terror Squad what the fuck what

[Both] Some of these kids is doin they own thing
But none of these kids stack chips like us
Some of these cats is doin they own thing
But none of these cats run tricks like us

[Chorus - R. Kelly]

[Fat Joe]
Haha, yeah uh
You know what this is
Chi-town - BX
What the fuck what?
Out...

"What's Luv?"
(feat. Ashanti, Ja Rule)

[Fat Joe:]
Put the fuckin' mic on
Mic is on
Joe Crack the Don uh
Yeah, Yeah, Y'All
Irv Gotti

[Ashanti:]
What's love?

[Fat Joe:]
Ashanti, Terror, Terror Squad
It should be about us
Be about trust

[Chorus: Ashanti (Ja Rule) {Fat Joe}]
What's love? (Got to do, got to do with it babe) {Yeah, Yeah, Y'All}
What's love?
It's about us {It's about us}
It's about trust babe {Be about trust}
What's love? (Got to do, got to do with it babe) {Yeah, Yeah, Uh}
What's love?
It should be about us {It should be about us}
It should be about trust babe {Be about trust}
What's love?

[Verse 1: Fat Joe]
Yeah, yeah, uh, uh, woo, yeah, slow down baby
Let you know from the gate I don't go down lady
I wanna chick with thick hips
That licks her lips
She can be the office type or like to strip
Girl you get me aroused how you look in my eye
But you talk to much man your ruinin' my high
Don't wanna lose the feelin'
Cause the roof is chillin'
It's on fire & you lookin'
Good for the gettin'
I'm rida
Other in a hoodie or a linner I'ma provider
You should see the jewelery on my women
& I'm livin' it up
The squad stay feelin' the truck
With Chicks that's willin' to triz with us uh
You say you gotta man & your in love
But what's love
Gotta do with a little menage
After the party
Just me & you
Could just slide for a few
& she could come too
That's love!

[Chorus]

[Verse 2: Fat Joe]
Yeah, uh, yeah, yo, mommy, I know you got issues
You gotta man
But you need to understand
That you got something with you
Ass is fat, frame is little
Tattoo in your chest with his name in the middle
Uh, I'm not a hater I just crush a lot
& the way you shake your booty I don't want you to stop
You Need to come a little closer (You need to come a little closer)
& let me put you under my arm like a Don is supposed ta
(Like a Don is supposed ta)
Please believe
You leave with me
We'd be freakin' all night like we was on E
You need to trust the god & jump in the car
For a little hard 8 at the Taj Mahal
What's love?

[Chorus]

[Verse 3: Fat Joe, Ashanti]

Yeah, uh, yo, I stroll in the club with my hat down
Michael Jack style
Hot steppin who the mack now?
Not my fault cause they love the kid
Ma be the chain or the whip
I don't know what it is
We just party & bullshit
Come on mommy put your body in motion
You gotta nigga open
You came here with the heart to cheat
So you need to sing the song with me
All my ladies come on

[Ashanti (Fat Joe)]
When I look in your eyes there's no stopin' me
I want the Thug Joey Crack on top of me (Uh-huh)
Don't want your stacks (Yeah)
Just break my back (Uh)
Gonna cut you no slack (Whoo)
Cause I'm on it like that (Uh, Come On)
Come on (Yeah, Yeah, Y'All) & put it (Yeah, Yeah, Y'All)
on me (Put it on ya Girl) on me (I'm put it on ya Girl)

[Chorus 2 Times]

"He's Not Real"
(feat. Prospect, Remi Martin)

Uh! Bringin It Back To The BX!
Wit my nigga Fat Joe, long side my nigga Prospect
Holdin the BX down
Bronx Burrough....Terror Sqaud

[Verse 1-Fat Joe]
Yo, everybody talkin gats, really don't pack em
98% of these rapper's is all actor's
Stay frontin, like you wild and'll spray somethin
Come to find out, you ain't never slanged nothin
Think it's the game, gon lose the sport
I seen dude's get bruised through fort
Then choose the court, a new's report
They just pursed the court
If you even think of bustin, they ass'll sooth your thoughts
A damn shame, I'm from the streets where it's fair game
Nigga's will ift you off your feet wit the Can-yan
Three in the chest and one in the part
For disrespect you, get left right in front of ya moms
Joe is the Don, you clean, then show me your arm's
For these track's, I'ma fiend like a soldier in 'Nam
Only the Bronx will blow your ass outta ya Lugz
Fuck love, here we believe in nothin but slugs

[Chrous-Prospect&Fat Joe]

[Prospect]
Always you see him in the club frontin wit the ice grill....
[Fat Joe]
Be like, he's alright, but he's not real
[Prospect]
Actin like he got a money, cause he never hold steel.....
[Fat Joe]
Be like, he's alright, but he's not real
[Prospect]
Always see him wit bodyguards around like he kill
[Fat Joe]
Be like, he's alright, but he's not real
[Prospect]
So if the feds after indictment's, we know he gon squeal....
[Fat Joe]
Be like, he's alright, but he's not real

[Verse 2-Prospect]
Yo, I squeeze of gats and spit facts when I breath on tracks
Got that hot shit, that make you ease on back
I'll make you leave the game like Ma$e, and get ya name erased
Walk threw from place to place, and change the chase
I'm givin him terror, for the new millenium era
Automatic Semi's wit the fully clip and the leather
Poppin champagne like we celebrating whatever
Switch to the chin, shoot top, hair and a feather
Versatile, walking threw the aisle, hurtin the crowd
Even got the god in the cloud, observing this style
He love the way I do this, leavin nigga's clueless
It's Prospect, it's off wit ya head, you should've knew this
My twin??, cock and squeeze, we stoppin G's
You better follow up, these nigga's can't rock wit these
Straight up, I speak life threw the mic though
Sprayin the town, and layin it down like whoa!

[Chrous-Prospect,Fat Joe&Remi Martin]

[Prospect]
Always see him in the club, frontin wit the ice grill....
[Fat Joe]
Be like, he's alright, but he's not real
[Prospect]
Actin like he got a honey, cause he never hold steel...
[Fat Joe]
Be like, he's alright, but he's not real
[Prospect]
Always see him wit bodyguards around like he kill
[Fat Joe]
He's alright, but he's not real
[Prospect]
So if the feds after indictment, you know he gon sqeaul....
[Remi Martin]
Be like, she's alright, but she's not real

[Verse 3-Fat Joe]
Yo, ayo I'm lookin for the perfect mami to ride wit me
Only wear she like to rock is 560
Swear to her mom's if it's on, she'll die wit me
Puff blunts, like to get high just like Whitney
Thug type, "Set It Off", like Jada
And this chick go both ways, don't hate her
Back in the block, they use to try to play her
Till the Don out her to the qualities much greater
Net Worth, put the tool in the skirt
Which you fools know about gettin head in reverse
About, clockin grips, and coppin whips
You muthafucker's stay frontin, stop poppin shit
Let's not forget, who be gettin robbed wit the choker
Man, I'm still rockin my same chains from "Flow Joe"
And you know Joe stay wit tha mack
You hatin the fact, you can't do nathan to crack
YA HEARD!!!

[Chorus Till Fade]

[Intro to Prodigy's "Keep It Thoro"]

"Oh y'all nigga's killa's now?"

"Murder Rap"
(feat. Armageddon)

[Fat Joe]
Uh-oh, uh-oh..
Let's get it over with.
Yo sound boy turn the levels up
Let's get it over with, UH!
Terror Squad up in this motherfucker
Where my real niggaz at?
My Bronx niggaz, my (?) niggaz
I see you Lil' Hat! Uh, Ahaha!
It's time to take it to these niggaz right here
Yeah.. yo.. yo..

Who wanna spaz out? Crunchtime, blow ya abs out
Leave you in the fetal position, witcha ass out
Ready to mash out any crew actin like
they the true facts of life, frontin through the camera lights
Despite, we hold it down regardless
I got Def Jam suckin me like, "I wish you was my artist"
For starters, who's the largest cat?
Get a hundred grand from my most garbage rap
Now how hard is that? Everything we spit be hot
Whether it's live on Flex or in front of the chicken spot
Grimed out, we really live whatchu rhyme 'bout
See me posted up in the Tunnel, with my shines out
Ice cold like Alaska when I pass ya
Got girls shakin, losin they breath, as if they catchin asthma
Headed to the bar to pop some bottles
Now we in the car headed home to rock some models
All I hear in the background is Gucci and Prada
But I'm tryna gas these bitches to screw me for nada
We the best that done it, confess you fronted
Anybody wanna test how much straps, you want it?

[Hook - Fat Joe]
Aiyyo the gangsta's back
Stop it right where you at
Let a real nigga rock real murderer rap
Tell them thug niggaz, listen to that
Gotchu feelin it hard like Joe the God's really bringin it back!

[Fat Joe]
I'm from my days and legends, since age eleven
I was the cause of dope fiends catchin AIDS infections
Most of us are dead, but the rest is locked
Runnin in the rec room and check me out on the box
A CEO could get optioned tryna change the channel
It's like tryna take the flesh outta the mouth of hungry cannibals
Joe the God, the flow is hard
Known for packin two dozen birds like Noah's Ark
I'm the realest of 'em, make you feel the pressure
Catch you at a club, smack you up, steal ya leather
You niggaz soften me, beat you out of the mix
Tough talk, tough walk, but you cry like a bitch
I see you downin the Cris', I'm not hatin, I'm just aggrevated
I ask myself every day, how these faggots made it?
Fuck around with the Don and get decapitated
I'm sick of hearin 'em (?) for all the cats that made it

[Hook - Fat Joe]

[Hook 2 - Armageddon]
Aiyyo the kid is back
Leave it right where you at
Let a real nigga hold that, you probably won't clap
Tell them thug niggaz, move it on back
I'm feelin tight and I'm hot
Ready to pop the crack right through your back

[Armageddon]
That's how Kenny rocks, I'm more advanced than how your learnin
I'm like the force of space balance and planets while they churnin
Poppin rosary beads, piss on ya candle while it's burnin
Rush ya widows crib and pop ya... bodies...
Now I know you can feel the heat I generate
Imagine when I penetrate ya stomach, and make ya body's center bake
We can argue for days, whether it's faster to drop five shots
in ya astronaut before you cloud the stash box
Splash ya brains on ya birds' laps
Swerve you on the curb, crash the Range, and push the front skirt back
And murk after that, blurtin curse words
Yo I popped that nigga's son one before we catch the first
I'ma kill any murderer, leave a nigga burpin up
Blood, chokin on chunks of his lung interior
Every verse that I spit's a personal riff
I meet a ill key frontin, I'm a murder you shit
Niggaz play me while distrubin the Bricks
I'm like the feelin of the first time they ever held a bird in they grip
Motivator thug, scrape 'em, shoot the bolts in his butt
Energizin 'em up, make 'em wanna open 'em up
Actin like I can't happen till I smack him in his Adam's apple
Death to rappin, I don't wanna battle
I'd rather rush your studio session and shatter the booth
Clap at ya face, give the mic feedback the goof

[Hook]
[Hook 2]