Lyrics:
[sample of "If and When" by The Three Degrees + Fat Joe]
I can see loneliness, heading my way
The light, of love has blown out (it's a new day
more unless it's profits
Lord, why you keep boxing me in, 'cause I'm God's gift?
I might set my mic back up in the closet, though
Just to give myself
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
ooh ah sound
I'ma push up on ya slow
Get ya right by the end of the night
Do something sweet
Like massage ya feet
And put Pretty Ricky cd
and had the blueprint
Makin' fresh money like a new man
'Til I woke up one day and realized I'm Logic
Somethin' they could never be, lets not even
We in the streets, playa, get your mail
It's only two places you end up, either dead or in jail
Still nowhere to go (nowhere to go)
Still nowhere
pretending working to survive
It's so unkind
I'm not up for that
Is not ok
But then again, what can I say
Everybody wants a job
Everybody wants to get paid
Everybody say ah, ah
Yeah, its 50 cent
And Lloyd Banks
And Young Buck
Yeah, and Joe
G-Unit!
Everybody say (la la la la la la la la la la
I was born with an old soul
So when I hear what you bump it sounds so so
I remember Fat Joe with the Fo Fo
Went way harder than you
Hoes spittin' old
is, this is
Listen up
This is, this is, this is, this is, this is
Oh, New York
Listen up
One's for the trouble
Two's for the show
Three's for
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
on
Come get introduced to my home
I grew up in the crime zone
Soon as you grown, you on your own, you keep your strap
You keep your chrome cause the streets
at the Muse
For ugly, I didn't and here's where I'm at
Chill, is that Q-Tip pullin out a gat
Damn, now I know sumthin really on
First to bust off, Fat Joe
Wanna date a gay boy
Want a gay boy but
They don't wanna
Gimme dem numba
They say I'm too fat boy
Say I'm too fat boy
They don't wanna
Gimme dem
For my thugs for my thugs
I don't wanna be a player no more
I'm not a player I just crush a lot
But you know Big Pun and Joe still down by law
Who's
to control this?
I know some folk that live by the levee
That keep on telling me they heard explosions
Same shit happened back in Hurricane Betsy
1965: I ain't
Get Joe Jitz to go splits on a used yacht
It's not new but what the fuck you got?
Ollie in the mix yo who I'm seen wit
At the party, Joe Jit and Charlie
riding with firearms cocked
Fire bomb box, set up by your mom's block
Go off on time, 'cause it's wired by alarm clock
I get his legs, you grab him by
time, got guns that mourn niggas' moms (what else?)
Shoot up clubs and destroy niggas' vibes (come on)
Everybody running for their motherfucking lives
that
But think how we think about it
I sit on the stand
Creepy Uncle Joe
And I get hot, I got a lot of, I got hairy legs that turn
Creepy Uncle Joe
allabies, I'm with Joe and De La Hoya
Fight on, ran up in the crib and turned the lights on
Yo get this, Mothafucka! I don't leave no witness
Like Larry
Yea What's happenin'? Bone Thugs~n~Harmony
Fat Joe Terror Squad Mo' Thugs
the Good Times nigga we on top of the world
[Chorus (2x):
Uh
What?
Fat Joe
BX, nigga
Y'all don't know?
Ayo its on, I see how niggas didn't learn
You is wrong, thought the fire didn't burn
Yo, it's
read)
seven deep in the jeep with the camel top,
everybody and they drunk as hell,
?? and awesome dre and anybody by the right would see us
(cause we
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