Lyrics:
One by one, they hit the dark {the dark}
Soldier of fortune
Soldier of fortune
{i'm a} soldier of fortune
Soldier of fortune
Show me your way
Soldier
I’m blowing up and I don’t even know it
Called G we got this album going
Now we bout to murder bitches and hoes
Mysteriously walking down the road
Trice, Emil hit 'em, let's go
Ob Trice, the giant, standing a 5'8" stature
Back with a second album, supplying ya Fear Factor
But Joe ain't the host
harder to play me
Than to fiddle backwards
Don't act like you knew my tactics
Cause when it hit's the fan
You know I stand last
I see through your true
enough fellas to be you, nigga
I got the 40/40 made by two jiggas
I make you Holla, Holla, I Ja Rule niggas
The lion's in the room, waddup Fat Joe?
I'm
I got that pack, i got that sack
I got that O, I hit the club I lose control
I smoke that loud, I know the grower
Ball like the owner
Hit this gin
shit is over
[Crooked I]
SLAUGHTERHOUUUUUSE! (Whoo, Kiiiiiiiid!)
[Joe Budden]
Look at ya man look back at me, yeah I know, sickenin huh?
Few got
dome
Fuck it if your boys gon' be talkin' they gon' get hit too
I'm really not givin' a fuck, long as I get you
Jamie, Fresh, Joe, Bubba
Ya gotta
And expect them not to know what a woman's clitoris is
Of course, they're gonna know what intercourse is
By the time they hit fourth grade
They've got
fans like crack fiends
Until we re-up, and put more Infamous up on the rap scene
Mix the coke rhymes in greases like baking soda
Albums of G-packs
Ru and Frogg at?
I put my hood on like it was cold as fuck
West side Cedar Block and niggas know what's up
I'm with the shit though, my album drop,
Beep
Dr Dre
Ay ay Snoop whattup this your nigga dre
Ay man I was thinkin' I ain't said shit on your whole motherfuckin' album
So check it out put
Beep
Dr Dre
Ay ay Snoop whattup this your nigga dre
Ay man I was thinkin' I ain't said shit on your whole motherfuckin' album
So check it out put
Zone out, with Sean Combs and bizzy-bone out (I see you in the club)
And by one, I'm gettin' thrown out
Mami, got her toes out, ain't one army can
And when I see you I'ma take what I want
So, you tried to front, hope ya (got yo'self a gun)
You ain't real, hope ya (got yo'self a gun)
My, first album
[Verse 1]
My, first album had no famous guest appearances
The outcome: I'm crowned the best lyricist
Many years on this professional level
Why would
fiya! Yes sir
We hit makin', hit breakin'
Party shakin', innovator
Groundbreakin', sole creator
We be the most anticipated
Hit makin', hit breakin'
now
Looking for the truth? You found a nigga
Thought I was a one hit wonder 'til I dropped the album, didn't it?
Thought I was just like you 'til I
The top brass at YouTube can't avoid Joe Rogan
And Spotify can barely afford Joe Rogan
The Winklevoss got their whole shit took by Mark Zuckerberg
He went
I remember all
All the fights we had
You'd slap my forehead
Say look at that
Say it was a roach
I'd hit you back
You stayed with us
By mawmaw Pat
still flame
But they love you on the come-up 'cause you ain't tainted by fame
And you still they little secret
That's the type of bullshit that they
Pumpin pounds of weight, nigga like exercise
Joe been over quarter five dope and homicide
Long before Charlie got knocked, until Madonna died
Young
thing to me
Gotta hit that thing, bring that back
Would you let me thumb through the check if you wanna get sexy
You knew I was high class ass when you
And put my ugly ass face on the album cover
With are & be top ten hits
And we had Jodeci singing all over our shit (aaahhhh!!!!)
Fuck that, though, yo,
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