Lyrics:
and bitches be dirty disinfect them all I gotta get some Lysol
Spray here spray there everybody get a spray I don't care
Niggas know you need it man quit
the family shackles
Laboring a man he's gaffled
I get angry, I sip bombs (chea!) on your rich lawn
I was brought up Muslim and Christian
I been studying
that ooh ahh 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
drop this funk which is bumped by the streets
As the sun goes down my dick goes up with the moon
Now im trying to get up in a womb
We still up in
Who wanna run up on me they get known quick
I blackout then snatch your chrome clique
Leavin' jail in '91, made I'm homesick
Move Pow-Fu like
various heads of state) votes will roll in, bucks will roll in, and, most
importantly, power will be maintained by the groovy guy (or gal) who gets
on ya wriiiiist
Gotta get da money i cant live like this
From da steel city dey don't hesitate to blitz
All deses hoes grimey dell set u up quick
I
someone fucking jizzed on the lid
It's a little bit of Joe pubic hair in his shit
Shit fard, fucking barred by the plunger
Fucking fard like it's thunder
that muthafucka hanging
And she forever be singing
With that thing in the back
Make it backtrack, look up
It’s somewhat banging
When I pull up and bang
she got a pretty Bottom
Pour it up in the fanta watch it Trickle to the bottom
Shake it up her ass fat watch her Shake it up
Took her way back like Joe
And by the way, you rappin' Nigga's,
I don't like you neitha'.
I mean, "either," proper gramma',
Pop a camera, man on that rap, DVD propaganda.
Yeah,
trip, get pistol-whipped
By a psycho maniac sick in his head
want to be a gangster, now he's dead
His brother took over, ain't no sweat
Bought a new
been a wonderin' how you've been
Everybody's feelin' fine so let the fun begin
Get the banjo off the wall and tune it up in A
Play some good ole country
party don't stop y'all
I'm Joe see bitch
Let me get them digits
I might be a little small hoe
But I ain't no god damn midget
So stick it up your
We got a wonderful show 4 y'all 2night, uh (alright, I love it)
But first off, before we get 2 the band
We'd like 2 bring up this nice funny young
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
ready for that (Statik)
Detroit vs. Everybody
Uh, I took a bite out the rotten apple by the poison tree
All these females need to email to make noise
break down the dank and roll up that shit
Light the motherfucker, take a fat-ass hit
My fingers all sticky from the residue
Don't fuck with me, I won't
on my weed
Steady drinkin' on my beer, hell naw niggah
Get the fuck up out of here, can't hold one
So you can't hold your tongue, nigga lips smackin
Like
indeed
Gotta know you're ver-ily respected, by me
You get the keys to the Lexus, but no drive
You get your own 2002, she through ridin'
Keep yo' ass
Yeah, but do we even matter?
Ever since a nigga gettin' money, gettin' fatter
Call me Fat Joe, lean back with the pattern
When I pull up to the spot,
Alright everybody calp their hands like this, come on
Keep it up all the way to the top
I'm hot, you're cold
You go around like you know
Who I
And by the way, you rappin' Nigga's,
I don't like you neitha'.
I mean, "either," proper gramma',
Pop a camera, man on that rap, DVD propaganda.
Yeah,
don't act hassadiddy
You be all on the block
Or posted up in the drop
And everybody get a band
Whether you like it or not
But how you girls blow up
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