[Intro: Fat Joe (Joell Ortiz)]
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, uh!
It's that killa Crack street music. (it's that Block Royal/Terror Squad music!)
Crack, COOK! (Joell Ortiz, nigga!)
Listen! (Knobody, whattup?!)
[Chorus: Joell Ortiz (Fat Joe)]
One shot, two shot, three shot, OHH! [echoes]
That'll send him right to the morgueue.
Four shot, five shot, six shot, SHIT! [echoes]
That's for the wife and the kids!
(I don't care about your money or that shit on your chest!)
Niggaz get killed for less!
(And all that shit you be talkin', man, we ain't impressed!)
Niggaz get killed for less! [echoes]
Whether - closed caption or high definition,
You could pro'bly find me on that big screen, diamonds glistenin'. (oh!)
"Ain't this a bitch, man? (uh!) That's Joey from the Bronx
And all the dirt he done, how the fuck he mix the songs? " (gimme these!)
Nigga! - He ain't lyin', I'm a chemist on that table,
My needle with the beige, make the competition hate you.
Couple deaths on the block, now they rate you; (rate you!)
Lil' Dex'll pull the trigger if I say: "Shoot! "
One shot, - two shot, - 'nother nigga dooown;
CSI searchin' but his face can't be found,
Nigga! - Shit is crazy on the streets of the Bronx, (BRONX!)
Niggas yellin': "Shots fired! " But police won't respooond!
Where I'm from niggaz pump that bass
An' holler at your lil' sister right in front of your face;
Nigga! (nigga!) - The working man's a sucker you heard, see
Nigga's gettin' hot for twenty years, still thirsty!
I guess they share a bond with the 'caine, ('caine!)
Now that's what I call rekindlin old flames;
Get it? (hahaha!) - Who else but Coca in the Rover? (uh!)
Sports kitted! - Coulda been my 'Ghini or my 'Rossa. (there's that is!)
Uh! - Life is for the living, get a chauffeur;
Find yourself a bitch that don't mind eatin' chocha.
We spit murder, you's a victim, boy! (boy!)
If that ass get flashy, we'll stick ya, boy! (boy!)
Naaah! - So don't die over nothin'! (HA!) - Let your lil' crew gas ya ass! (why?)
Cause on my block I was the "Doc" - before Aftermath. (YEAH!)
I had that - rock in the spot the fiends had to blast, (uh-huh!)
When I - chopped it with pop and shoot past the glass. (there's that is!)
See? I really hustle, homie! (YUP!) - This ain't no fabrication, (nah!)
They never called me back, I filled out many applications. (BLAAT!)
Watchin' these corny niggaz come up, that was aggravatin' (ssssh!)
So I hit the corner, told 'em: "Beat it" like they masturbatin'. (HAHAAAAA!)
I tried to have the patience, (word!)
I asked God for the answers, he took too long to respond so I had a chat with Satan. (yeah!)
He told me my dreams ain't have to stay imagination; (no!)
Turned my wrecked Timbs to a stretch Benz for my graduation! (WOOAAH!)
Had all the lil' sluts at my prom salivatin', (oooh!)
Scooped my diploma, I'm gone but I kept on calculatin'! (what?)
Colleges holla cause every grade I had's amazin', (UHH!)
It was school books or cool looks when I pass with Daytons. (EEERRR!)
Clappin' at plays or hearin' my new Magnum flamin', (yeah!)
Schoolgirls or I'm a earl, look who this bastard's blazin'. (yeah!)
Long story short! - Maaan, I had these faggots hatin'
I'm handsome, I'm cool, I got guap, and I get it crack-a-latin'. (it's that is!) (whooo!)
I come from the place where you get your hood passes made in (HAH!)
A BROOK where the only thing SHOOK'S on the stove marinatin'. (WHAT?!)
So when they say congratulations over the respect my pad is gainin' (uh-huh!)
Know I ain't goin' back! - I'm aimin' like...
[Outro: Fat Joe]
That's what the fuck I'm talkin' about!
That real gangsta music...
Like that shit, you like how that shit sounds, nigga!
BLAAAT! (there's that is!) [beat stops]