Lyrics:
I'm your idol, the highest title, numero uno (woah)
I'm not a Puerto Rican but I do look up to Fat Joe (woo)
And understand I got the gift of speech
be the first (nah)
Won't be the last, all we see is cash (yeah)
Your real story don't match what you rappin' 'bout (liar)
So keep the movies in,
sign my shirt?
[Violent J:]
Hehehehehehehehe, yeah
I remember school, hoes back then were like "Joe Bruce ewwww"
Years passed by, and look I'm
sign my shirt?
[Violent J:]
Hehehehehehehehe, yeah
I remember school, hoes back then were like "Joe Bruce ewwww"
Years passed by, and look I'm
that joe-shmo, to hop-off; pogo
Ho's tell me I'm a pro
But I knoe doe
Bro's wanna hear a flow
Cause they knoe doe
Oh, kid talkin' shit on the low-low?
and it’s FINna bust
BMO bullets the tech stay with us
Susan Strong bullets my gun is real tough
Flame Princess nigga I’m burning him up
Rosa parks G3
shit, pop that pussy like a zit
I go by the name Lil Tunechi
Your girl is a groupie
And nigga, you's a square
And I will twist you like a Rubix
is Killa Season
Watch him kill the season, paid checks heavy
It's King Jaffe Joe, get ya tape decks ready
Cam'ron:
That's one and out, let's go, let's
Why you mad? why you mad bro?
Lean back nigga fat joe
You know I’m just tryna get the bag yo
We like lol to the bank though
True talk (Yeah)
Look
the guap, got the cheese, got the gouda (yeah)
My wallet fat, this shit stick out like Buddha (fat)
My dick too deep in her throat she a puker (ah)
Fucking
And Fat Joe got Remy, so you can't be the queen
Talk trash, ayo matta fact.. my man right here..
Came all the way from Compton, to see me put you to shame
remix, remix
Remix, remix, remix,
[Verse 6: Fat Joe]
All these n*ggas wanna front trill with them stiff faces
Till them n*ggas lyin' still up in stiff
I wanna make you mine girl
Love is blind girl, PT3
Tell me what's your sign girl
Lil Sacci Killa' Damn you so fine girl
Fresh pair of boots 3000
smooth
This chopped cheese is from Red Hook
And this Glock was 3D printed in Bangladesh
This shit is international
I'm posted up at the crib-o with
paper is amazing
So needless to say mad trails are left blazing
A whole lot of bull(shit) rhymes start to get play
But I'm here to say real rhymes to pay
One more word out his mouth
I'll push Styles shit back
See, the nozzle on my trey
Pound is three inches long
And the kick on the
Four-fours is extremely
PT
Business attire like a motherfucking white guy
Shorty is my type
Make her go night night
Bagging the bitches from the rags to riches, I'm not
hear you talking shit
Its T spelled T.HE The Hearts Ear I am he
Sound the alarm cuz now he is amongst thee
Thats 612 The union K and the KWay behind me
Yeah, see it's that
It's that Blueprint 3 shit right here
It's that T-M 103 shit right here
You ready? You ready Hov'? Let's go! (Hands up!)
Yeah, see it's that
It's that Blueprint 3 shit right here
It's that T-M 103 shit right here
You ready? You ready Hov'? Let's go! (Hands up!)
nothin', right now, man
(Ladies callin' you and all that, man)
Nah, that shit was down
(You 'bout to blow soon, you know?)
Niggas ain't for real, kid
the truth)
I'ma keep it real
Show you how it feels to ride
Y'all went three feet and stopped rising
(I ain't seen shit)
Wendy Williams is a fat bitch
That's
thirty bags down to the projects
I got one, two, three, four shooters clutchin' carbines
I got bad bitches and they ass fat
Rock designer bags
Fat Joe fellas rock away lean back,
Now spin to the right, land in front left leg,
Switch right foot, slide left, stolen base, safe
Now take it down
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