Lyrics:
careful, that chick belongs to Smokey Joe"
'Till from behind the counter, I saw a man
A chef hat on his head and a knife in his hand
He grabbed me by
post-racial shit/always do your best to blow it out that nasal drip/
you Can’t pass me Joe Montana you can’t pass me Joe Montana you can’t pass we Joe Montana
stutter, everybody knows that I'm butter
I'm not the man with sensitivity
The name is Fat Joe, the label's Relativity, huh
I chop a rapper like a meat
And niggas don't be tripping, don't
Be doin no drive-bys
Cause we don't gangbang, don't wear blue or red
We like that fucking green and paper's what I said
Big
And niggas don't be tripping, don't
Be doin no drive-bys
Cause we don't gangbang, don't wear blue or red
We like that fucking green and paper's what I said
Big
that fuckin green, papers what I said
Big Moe wassup, in this bitch and this niggas singin
Comin through just like hell, the bells are ringin
Big Moe
be trippin dont be doin no drive-bys
Cause we dont gangbang, dont wear blue or red
We like that fuckin green, papers what I said
Big Moe wassup, in
my homie "it's on"
Got a few hoes that wanna moan and groan
They on they way I just hung up the phone
And we gon' be like Marvin Gaye, nigga,
it: heaven help me
Feels like I might fall
Cos I'm about to break it down
Don't frown or curse
Just watch me scale that wall
And be ready to take it
In
One day while I was eating beans at Smokey Joe's Café
Just sittin', diggin' all them scenes at Smokey Joe's Café
A chick I'd never seen before
careful, that chick belongs to Smokey Joe"
'Till from behind the counter, I saw a man
A chef hat on his head and a knife in his hand
He grabbed me by
laugh on the spot
Ho I can make you look like an amateur tonight
I can fuck a bitch on a bus like she Rosa Parks
Nigga's diamonds soaking wet, yours
favorite rap blog on your favorite rap website
And if that ain't right show me straight to the judge
Just like Brian Nichols I ain't spitting nothing but
Rogan, Joe Rogan…
Joe Rogan, what are you smokin’?
Joe Rogan, Joe Rogan, Joe Rogan, Joe Rogan…
Joe Rogan, what are you smokin’?
Farm that wheat like broke
Yes-sir, yes-sir, boss
I must admit altho I don't like Sunday
I have a fit when I go thru Blue Monday
Monday's the one day that my dice lose
they just
dreams and living
Like a millionaire
Well the first thing he did is his gas got low
He said I got to pull it off by the side of the road
Pick up my guitar
just talking about two guys
That she dated in the past and
What they're good at and what
They bought her and what they said
To her it's just cheeky
Like
Just to watch you veg
Me and Ryan Gosling got somethin' in common
We both fly as fuck and rock with the Mormons
She wormin' that shit with that shit in
to plow", yeah
And mama said it was shame
About poor Billie Joe anyhow, yeah yeah
She said "Seem like nothin' ever
Comes to no good", huh
"To nothin'
on Sunday, oh, by the way
Said he saw a girl that looked a lot like you upon Choctaw Wridge
She and Billie Joe was throwin' something off the Tallahatchie
Well, they're hanging Joe Bean this morning, for killing a man in Arkansas.
Funny thing about it, Joe Bean has never been to Arkansas.
On top of that, Joe
fine, as Uncle Joe I wear that age like it's a three piece suit
Can't get to this type of flavor without a season at true
Every Sunday at the spades
Just twenty short years from the day you were born, you died by the hangman's hand.
Yes, they're hanging Joe Bean this morning, for a shooting that he
to have dinner on Sunday, oh, by the way"
"He said he saw a girl that looked a lot like you up on Choctaw Ridge"
"And she and Billie Joe was throwing
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