Lyrics:
the 40
He gone get rowdy
And ya don't want that shit
Cause it's gon' be naughty, by nature
Fuck a player hater
I'mma come through
And you know I'm down
the 40
He gone get rowdy
And ya don't want that shit
Cause it's gon' be naughty, by nature
Fuck a player hater
I'mma come through
And you know I'm down
fake jax
Fat Joe, bringin forth the illest motherfuckers
In this whole rap game
Hey yo Armageddon, let these motherfuckers know
[Armageddon]
You
so you know my ass high
Funk made by my nigga named X,
Bitches with the fat lips and fat ass, I want to sex
Check this, nuts to your chin now fin,
featuring Diamond D Grand Puba
[Diamond D] Ninety three it's time man
(All out yo because youknowhatI'msayin..)
[Fat Joe
so you know my ass high
Funk made by my nigga named X,
Bitches with the fat lips and fat ass, I want to sex
Check this, nuts to your chin now fin,
niggaz know the deal
Check it out, the fuckin' shit is real
Hey yo, it's real
[Chorus]
[Fat Joe]
Check it out
Let me let ya know why I made this
[Fat Joe]
Yeah don't get it fucked up
This shit is realer than you think
Goin out to all them niggaz gettin cream
Drivin them
coast to coastin'
Rub it on your skin like lotion
What's the commotion? Oh my Lord
Another cord chopped by the Wu-Tang sword
Hey, hey, hey, like Fat
coast to coastin'
Rub it on your skin like lotion
What's the commotion? Oh my Lord
Another cord chopped by the Wu-Tang sword
Hey, hey, hey, like Fat
passion, but got no job
So when you talk about living your passion
Them go yob you say, "Chale, make you dog"
When you make it, you can make it rain
Cats
comin to my car lot
Lookin for that ultimate upgrade
But if it's me you choose
Then girl on me you better make it rain
If you tryin floss with the one
a hundred grand when ever I hear a new song
C'mon c'mon that's too many ring-tones
Two point eight what you want me to tell ya
Make it rain man, Rhianna
clothes, hair weave an' micros
Field boys, we smoke by, freak by these bow ties
Quick rain the flip flop, gang stank in the zip locks
Bitches need
nasty, dirty South
It's Boondox like that low-down, nasty, filthy fella from the Field
Dedicated to southern housin' an' better make a meal
The southern
I'm Fat Joe on that stove, gotta get, cook, crack!
I'm tryna get it, let some fiends hit it
Let 'em lean wit' it, make sure they Bean wit' it
If they
It'll be a cold day in hell the day I take an L
Make no mistake for real I wouldn't hesitate to kill
I'm still the fat one that you love to hate
Catch
It'll be a cold day in hell the day I take an L
Make no mistake for real I wouldn't hesitate to kill
I'm still the fat one that you love to hate
Catch
where you flagged him down
There was a bus load of kids, comin' from town
And they were right in the middle, when Big Joe topped the hill
It could have
heat
put it up now for the dirty south
southern fried now all up in your mouth
it's that hip hop shit with the southern twist
and you pick em up
a hundred grand when ever I hear a new song
C'mon c'mon that's too many ring-tones
Two point eight what you want me to tell ya
Make it rain man, Rhianna
It'll be a cold day in hell the day I take an L
Make no mistake for real I wouldn't hesitate to kill
I'm still the fat one that you love to hate
Catch
Lies all mixed up with omissions
Aw welcome home again
It's too late for apologies they're falling at my feet
This is just the way of the world Joe said
(Intro - Fat Joe talking)
Cool & Dre, uh
Terror Squad motherfuckers
They're all gonna laugh at ya, haha
They're all gonna laugh at ya
Yeah,
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