One Shot (Killed for Less) lyrics

[Intro: Fat Joe] + (Joell Ortiz)
Cook! (Yeah!)
Yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah, uhh
It's that killa crack street music
(It's that Block Royal, Terror Squad music)
Crack, cook (Joell Ortiz n*gga)
Listen (Knobody, WHAT UP!)

[Hook: Joell Ortiz] + (Fat Joe)
One shot, two shot, three shot, OHH! OHH!
That'll send him right to the morgue
Four shot, five shot, six shot, sh*t, sh*t
That's for the wife and the kids
(I don't care about your money or that sh*t on your chest)
n*ggas get killed for less!
(And all that sh*t you be talkin man we ain't impressed)
n*ggas get killed for less!

[Fat Joe]
Whether, closed caption or high definition
You could probably find me on that big screen, diamonds glistenin
"Ain't this a b*tch man? That's Joey from the Bronx
And all the dirt he done, how the f*ck he mix the songs n*gga?"
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
Lil' Dex'll pull the trigger if I say shoot
One shot, two shot, 'nother n*gga down
CSI searchin but his face can't be found n*gga
sh*t is crazy on the streets of the Bronx
n*ggas yellin "Shots fired" but police won't respond
Where I'm from n*ggas pump that bass
And holler at your lil' sister right in front of your face n*gga
The working man's a sucker you heard, see
n*gga's gettin hot for twenty years, still thirsty
I guess they share a bond with the 'caine
Now that's what I call rekindlin old flames
Get it? Who else but Coca in the Rover?
Sports kitted, coulda been my 'ghini or my 'rossa
Life is for the living, get a chauffeur
Find yourself a b*tch that don't mind eatin chocha
We spit murder, you's a victim, boy
If that ass get flashy we'll stick ya, boy!
[Hook]

[Joell Ortiz]
Nah.. so don't die over nothin, let your lil' crew gas ya ass
Cause on my block I was the Doc, before Aftermath
I had that, rock in the spot the fiends had to blast
When I, chopped it with pop and shoot past the glass
See I really hustle homie, this ain't no fabrication
They never called me back, I filled out many applications
Watchin these corny n*ggas come up, that was aggravatin
So I hit the corner, told 'em beat it like they masturbatin
I tried to have the patience I asked God for the answers
He took too long to respond so I had a chat with Satan
He told me my dreams ain't have to stay imagination
Turned my wrecked Timbs to a stretch Benz for my graduation
Had all the lil' sl*ts at my prom salivatin
Scooped my diploma, I'm gone but I kept on calculatin
Colleges holla cause every grade I had's amazin
It was school books or cool looks when I pass with Daytons
Clappin at plays or hearin my new Magnum flamin
Schoolgirls or I'mma earl, look who this bast*rd's blazin
Long story short, man I had these faggots hatin
I'm handsome, I'm cool, I got guap, and I get it crack-a-latin
I come from the place where you get your hood passes made in
A brook where the only thing shook's on the stove marinatin
So when they say congratulations over the respect my pad is gainin
Know I ain't goin back, I'm aimin like
[Hook]

[Outro: Fat Joe]
AOWWWW! That's what the f*ck I'm talkin about
That real gangsta music, BIATCH!
Like that sh*t, you like how that sh*t sounds n*gga
BLAT!