Terror Era lyrics

by

Fat Joe


[Intro - guy talking]
Aiyyo Joe man what's good man
Aiyyo I hear n*ggas poppin sh*t
They runnin off to the Jakes man
They talkin like you ain't hood n*gga
What's really gangsta n*gga
What up what's poppin man
Aiyyo f*ck these n*ggas man
Let these n*ggas do 88

[Fat Joe]
(yeah uh what uh yo yo)
Migga tryin to change the Ragine, I won't have that
Step in the club in Manhat at
And it feel like sat down, Jose the flow is cocaine
n*ggas even got the nerve tryin to clone the name
It's the kid wit a thousand aliases, the hood knows
sh*t nowadays got n*ggas callin me cooked coke
I rise to the to the top and I lay it down quite flat
You can battle me up and get your money right back
Crack n*ggas clap n*ggas wit the fo' kid
The newspaper sh*t
Known for crackin n*ggas jaws
And I don't go to court, I talk wit the hawk
Have a forensics specialist outline your corks
About time we fought man
I'm tired of this rumor sh*t, ya whole life's a lie
Let you slide but you ruin it, we the guys doin it
You only pretend
Shoot the place to merk off in my loyalty rims
n*gga what

[guy talking]
Yeah yeah that's what's up my n*gga
I see these n*ggas ain't f*ckin wit you though
But what's up wit these n*ggas though man
These n*ggas is ridin around in f*ckin benzes and sh*t
Bentleys & all that sittin on yachts
Yea man show these n*ggas what your 1's like man
What's up

[Fat Joe]
I gets duece 5 a show, do 5 a week
Let y'all do the math, that's aight for me
sh*t never claim to be the richest but the truth is
Livest n*gga you've ever seen in show biz
And you know this, notice the dime is poppin
Hold the masterpiece watch the Don be coppin
I'm like Gunny from Dead Pres'
Put the gun in your mouth and tell you how lucky you are to break bread
I'm tired of sonnin n*ggas that don't believe us
I'm at ya life savers alone wit my sneakers
I went from humble beginners to ownin the Jimmy's
f*ckin wit women that only want me for winnin
Only for homey sittin, scuse me but don't be sh*ttin
I'm only bonin the b*tch is if y'all could be gettin
n*gga what!!

[guy talking]
Yeah that's what's up Crack
But what's up wit that b*tch when she gonna drop yo
What's up wit Remy man
Where that b*tch at man
Yeah man
Everytime I look around man I don't see no Remy man
n*ggas in the hood want you to call this b*tch out man
What's up man

[Remy Martin]
Yo I don't give a f*ck
I don't play that sh*t
And I feel to bust a cap on a n*gga
I run up wit a gat on a n*gga
c*ck back on a n*gga
Like Rem's that b*tch and Crack's that n*gga
For every word I spit I get ass cat figures
So f*ck ass clappin, I'll clap yo ass n*gga
And chick is so funny cause I gets gully
Rocks throwbacks and fitteds n*gga, hoodies and skullies
Am I fist is a pack on my wrist is a Jacob
And I gotta a "mac" and I don't mean make up
Sellin pies on da block like, I sell aranathum
Do you want it raw? Or do want me to bake em?
Get the bag it cut it shop it f*ck it it's mothin
Got the product the power and the will to do the hustle
sh*t it's sicker than vomit, I swear to God it's disgustin
Hot an' fresh out the kitchen so these b*tches can't touch it
You gotta love it I'm buggin word to my cousin Tequila
Slap the sh*t outta any b*tch interferin wit my scrilla
See a n*gga he can get it too, f*ck what your di*k a do
Even if I stuttered I will still "shi shi sh*t on you"
My n*gga L.V

A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z #
Copyright © 2012 - 2021 BeeLyrics.Net