Lyrics:
on food I'm in the mood for a stick-up,
To pick up lil' somethin' on a get up
You hit up, blessed by the way I protest,
Your world, gettin' it all of my
like
Ba-da-da-da-da-da-da couple of bullets are comin' your way then it jam
Like god damn
Then I pick up somethin' quicker, start killin' everything
Joe just got home you know what's up with us
They say pressure bust pipes we bust a lot of guts
And I be out my mind no I don't give a fuck
Pass down
a
Sexy lady, I wanna rock your world
Talkin bout the overnight scenario scenario
I wanna hook up witch on Saturday, Ima pick you up on Saturday
Maybe we
bands up
Nigga said he sliding but he still ain't pick his mans up
Talkin bout a shot but never hit it cause he jammed up, what
Hey, broke man, broke man
bands up
Nigga said he sliding but he still ain't pick his mans up
Talkin bout a shot but never hit it cause he jammed up, what
Hey, broke man, broke man
again (go, again)
They gon' try to lock us in our home, again
(in our home, again) say no!
Aye, Joe, I got a bone to pick (bone to pick)
What's up wit'
on food I'm in the mood for a stick-up,
To pick up lil' somethin' on a get up
You hit up, blessed by the way I protest,
Your world, gettin' it all of my
Mario's jealous the amount of times you've been in Peach
Democrat President ain't abiden by your bedroom laws
Neither will be you when you're pressed up
(Get on down)
Pick it up, pick it up
Pick it up, pick it up
(Get on down)
Pick it up, pick it up
Pick it up, pick it up
If you find a bag
(Get on down)
Pick it up, pick it up
Pick it up, pick it up
(Get on down)
Pick it up, pick it up
Pick it up, pick it up
If you find a bag
no cigarettes.
Ah, but two hours of pushing broom
Gets a eight by twelve four bit room
Well, I'm a man of means by no means
King of the road.
King
Fifty-five hundred, nigga, that's your range
When I came to the club, make it storm, hurricane
Your nigga pull up, think he G.I. Joe
Man, 7.62, turn him
try it
We'll pick up Hazy Davey and Killer Joe and
I'll take you all out to where the gypsy angels go
They're built like light and they dance like
got a bottle of Rose, so let's try it
We'll pick up Hazy Davy and Killer Joe
And I'll take you all out to where the Gypsy angels go
They're built
of the stu for being sloppy
Joe$ya mane
Don't treat music like it's a hobby
Beat sales going crazy man they cop it like is molly
And the beats hit hard like
you odds
Every cotton-eyed Joe's as good as gone
Hey baby
Are you keeping the score
She's heard them pick-up lines
At least a thousand times
They ain't
legs in the air
She want her hair pulled spank her derriere
We interrupted by a phone call
By Joe the player
That boy tell me he got big bricks for sale
[Chorus]
[Fat Joe]
Word up!
I want to say peace to my peeps, The Beatnuts
Messengers of Funk, Strickly Roots
My man Funk Flex, Zulu Nation
Jazzy J in
air back, I'm rap's heimlich
Got 'em all sick is that vomit?
You nasty
Man I'll smack your skin if you feel you past it
[Joe Budden]
It's like we
and come BACK, won't nobody know it
Drive by, screamin' it's a new crew reppin'
Hangin out the window, like it's "227"
Get 'em up high!
Get 'em up
Carole in a cage to let the tigers eat
So huddle up, Carole won't you take a knee
Next to the lion by the looks of it who wants you in its teeth
Feeding
and a beanie
Sippin' on a martini, takin' my pick at bitches like eenie meenie
I'm unscannable, young cannibal
Eat wack MCs like Hannibal
'Cause Joe Pesci's my
my grandfather's fedora and some cheap brut
And went up the street to Joe's with my loot
We met up with some cats we knew from the day
We took
.jpg/225px-Joe_Diffie_10-14-17_(cropped).jpg "Joe Diffie")
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