Lyrics:
by the ice while I release the confrontation
Donna holy fat bags of weed, ravioli pasta
Bodyguard the Killa Bee songs like Kevin Costner
Infrared
nothin, we untouched,
one-hundred percent pure shit, uncut.
(Chorus x2)
Suave House, No Limit soldiers (x8)
(Eightball)
Real playaz,
stop frontin to your friends like you knew me
Cause you don't and you never did, kid
So FUCK your respect and the shit you claim ya did
To all ya real
dinero
Like Joe Pesci, Hov' is so deadly
In the middle of the ocean, racin on jet skits (*PYOOM!*)
Get your mind right or get it on your left sleeve
fast
me and my nigga C is makin money out the ass
This shit is gettin silly dope is so easy to sell
Pay everybody bail ain't no spendin time in jail
we the shit
This is the part where we run Hip Hop
So get them hands high
I'm yelling all my real niggas
"keep moving"
My real bitches, "keep moving"
I
jail
I fuck a bitch face more than her waist for real
And ain't no pussy like new pussy thats how a nigga feel
Bust three times throw her the peace sign
"Let me-, let me hold that"
"One for you, one for me
Two for you, one-two for me"
"What?"
"Three for you"
"Get, get, man, I'll smack-"
"Fuck is
capped by my nigga C
And now his ass is sent up the river next to me
Four years pass and we back on the shoulder
Cut a fifty up into a nice fat boulder
mother
Stop smilin, I know all you want to do is hit
And I really don't give a shit
They get mad, cause I always look serious
So they slam on my
shit back like medieval
I spit at it like a Baretta, you know I get better by givin' the people
Not a fuck given, check the method, that's how we
laid low, called Big Pun and Fat Joe
Them niggaz my click, we three amigos -- they said
that they knew the cat, exactly where he live at
And when I
our dress cold is all black
Y’all niggas always say y’all real but y’all Niggas really rats
Look at the scoreboard, we up by twenty four y’all need get
times without even tryin
I'll beat that pussy up there's no denyin
Hit her where she doodie at, make that booty fat
Little cutie rat, walking by with
by see I'ma be like buying her
shit.
I bought her lunch the first time,
but see there trick that's nuthin' but game,
I hit it one time
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
out, grab a white bitch by her titties
Rock wallabies, this is Clarkology
You know copy Starky belong wit the triple technology
Quick wit the pistol,
times without even tryin
I'll beat that pussy up there's no denyin
Hit her where she doodie at, make that booty fat
Little cutie rat, walking by with
the law and the act,
And all he get to do, is eat that funky hoe from the back.
On top of that,
The bitch fat!!!
Makin' a career off this nigga,
the hundred dollar bill? (Yeah, what? What? What?)
They gotta send it to the back to make sure the shit is real (what? Say word, word)
Mr. Nigga, Nigga-Nigga
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
more tricks than a Hunts Point ho
Search for beats with my man called Show
Then I shoot the gift with my man Fat Joe
I put hits together just like
them 3, to come up here wit me
So I can put em where they 'pose to be
One at the head, one in the middle
And one down by my feet, she keep ticklin'
shit on y`all
Or should I say yes, cause I`m still on the bus
So y`all is really me it`s just, y`all is already you
I hereby do declare, all of us is
Discuss these shit is real pt iii by fat joe Lyrics with the community:
Report Comment
We're doing our best to make sure our content is useful, accurate and safe.
If by any chance you spot an inappropriate comment while navigating through our website please use this form to let us know, and we'll take care of it shortly.
Attachment
You need to be logged in to favorite.
Log In