Lyrics:
and Slick Rick
'La Di Da Di, Who likes to party?' was the fat shit
I mean I saw this hip-hop thing on every level
Chuck D, PE, yes the rhythm and the rebel
bed
White print in quotes read Superman's dead
It's faster than a speeding bullet
Can't look back
Stronger than a locomotive
Leaves a lip fat
Able
cake
I love to fuck fat bitches
Like Catholics like to rape (Hey)
Suck my balls suck my balls
Fat bitches love cake
And if you stole this album
Rucka
like a fat farm
Mickey the D what you
Eat now that's fat harm
Big Onna jeans poppa
Sneaks fubu phat farm
Bro say I train em
Then kick em to curb
He
put an extra lime on my water glass (I'm so sorry)
An hour later here she come by walking past
(I hate to be a pest but my son would love your
It's not usual, the game be, all up on some South shit
Straight west coasting, you can tell by my outfit
Red 'nati fitted, "Blood in, Blood out"
trey-pound, black 9-mil
Magucci leather got me shoe crazy
Quarter mil' vehicle and I'm a oops baby
And if I'm wearin my chain it's 380
Like Fat Joe, nigga you
on the ?
That ass thicker than a mo'fucker
Her mama bad, I tryna hit it that's a motherfucker
In that Mausoleum looking like Selena
And I'm Fat Joe, Don
Jesus, Mary and Joe
They done passed Heaven Bill 1070
Restricted signs everywhere you go
I think they want to bring back old Jim Crow
If there's a God
His family taught him right from wrong
With local tales and children's songs
Sunday school was his shelter
With his friends Joe and Walter
Now
mix tape I don't wanna feature
Couldn't give a shit about your album either
I don't wanna hear you come out the speaker, no
You ain't been to a show
Black Magic by Slayer
Only What the Light Allows vocals by Joe Benson
Cursed
Black magic night
We've been struck down
Down in this Hell
Spells
Cry My Name by Bloodbath
Reekomposer vocals by Tony Reviere and Joe Benson
You will see
My burning inferno
And there is no way in your wildest dreams
Swanz tak pernah miss
I go by the name of Swanz
How the heck I made this far
I just wanna make this fun
Drop like I hit and run
I go by the name
crack, since fat joe made em lean back
I'm running up the score for sure, if they want war nigga
I'm God's machine, what you thinking I'm built for
Man, I
got it
Fat boy, rich nigga, with a appetite
Count money all night under the candlelight
Spinnin' vinyl, Teddy P, or is it Lionel?
Not a model, but I
"Uncle Bob, where you at?
Yeah I know your pockets fat but I don't give a fuck 'bout that
I'm glad we family" (uh)
We a half breed family, yeah, yeah,
a fuck, say you could run that shit back
And fuck your loud pack, and fuck your Snapchat
Cherry Bomb, the greatest fuckin' album since the days of sound
Yo I get more props than a movie studio
My rhymes are gore soaked like a film by Lucio
I'll fuck a bitch with an empty gun then shoot her with her
And they turnin' into fat addicts
With some bad habit's
I'm too concerned with fat
Asses and some rack-stackin'
That that's just the material bullshit that
I
I cry when I listen to your album
With a heavy heart, and heavy soul
It reminds that at times we all get lonesome
We don't know where we want to go
bass like a tenor, Fat Joe Soprano
Even with that work, work, work your bitch washed
Had me like what the bludclot, Chris Bosh
She told him that they
untamed by the children in this game
Tre, go grab them things, we gon' get paid, man
Joe Casey know a n**** wan' buy some things
I start in the hood, I
bumrushing them hoes like Joe Klecko
It's hard to get a ticket like the Funkmaster Flex show
Even fat girls get twist into pretzels, Tony Starks special
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