 Jealous On » Lyrics [+ Shtoj +] |
1. _ My Lifestyle
[background] (Ya'll wanna live my lifestyle Never seen a brick, never seen a crackhouse Wanna a war with the Don have your techs out Bring it on, and I'ma show you gangsta) [lapses over] Yeah...ughh...right back at you motherfuckers....ughh...yeah.. [Verse 1] Yo, Yo, I stand alone in this cold world, could you believe that? I've seen some good men get blown over G-packs In the Bronx where it's known to hear the heat clap And live niggaz get it on with the D-techs, SHIT, my life's legendary If I wrote down all in a book it would be very scary What you know 16 be missin' Benzes Rope chain down to my dick, the beef looks tremendous Me and my niggaz flip holes in bitches Back then, when I wouldn't even pose for bitches A-YO, you can ask dapadan who was the man Back in 88, every other week tricked 30 grand Even my bitches wore Gucci and Louie My peeps already in the crowd looking for groupies to screw me Exit the club, about to cruise up the block now with the taj, stay frontin' with top down See me in that new thing with my fiancee Ass so fat, making you say "Muchos GRANDE" Don't blame me, blame them, the white folk for giving me ten mil, for possessin' the tight flow WHOA [Chorus: repeat 2X] Ya'll wanna live my lifestyle Never seen a brick, never seen a crackhouse Wanna a war with the Don have your techs out Bring it on, and I'm show you gangsta [Verse 2 (lapse over chorus)] Yeah, yeah, uh, yo, blow half your head off, leave you with brain damage He got his shit rocked cause he didn't pay homage It's the Don of this rap shit, go on with that wack shit Heard you walked the dorm in a thong on your last bid Joey Crack is, the most official Toke the pistol for those who appose the issue I hope I convinced you to back up, really you acted up, believe me I could EASILY GET YOUR ASS TOUCHED And that sucks, ain't nobody could fuck with this Bullet shook could make you take a bucket of piss For runnin' your lips Got the fifth stuck in your ribs, don't make me... splash your lungs right in front of your kids I'm a basketcase, don't ever give this bastard space or I'ma have your ass erased I'm from the Bronx amongst corrupt cops, we mothered this rap shit But still don't get enough props All I hear is "Gangsta" you ain't build like that Don't make me have to pull a tool and really tilt your cap I'm from crills to crack You've been dealin' with rap You ain't never run the streets, now I'm revealing your act What the fuck [Chorus: repeat 2X] Ya'll wanna live my lifestyle Never seen a brick, never seen a crackhouse Wanna a war with the Don have your techs out Bring it on, and I'm show you gangsta more free lyrics |
2. _ Murder Rap
[Fat Joe] Uh-oh, uh-oh.. Let's get it over with. Yo sound boy turn the levels up Let's get it over with, UH! Terror Squad up in this motherfucker Where my real niggaz at? My Bronx niggaz, my (?) niggaz I see you Lil' Hat! Uh, Ahaha! It's time to take it to these niggaz right here Yeah.. yo.. yo.. Who wanna spaz out? Crunchtime, blow ya abs out Leave you in the fetal position, witcha ass out Ready to mash out any crew actin like they the true facts of life, frontin through the camera lights Despite, we hold it down regardless I got Def Jam suckin me like, "I wish you was my artist" For starters, who's the largest cat? Get a hundred grand from my most garbage rap Now how hard is that? Everything we spit be hot Whether it's live on Flex or in front of the chicken spot Grimed out, we really live whatchu rhyme 'bout See me posted up in the Tunnel, with my shines out Ice cold like Alaska when I pass ya Got girls shakin, losin they breath, as if they catchin asthma Headed to the bar to pop some bottles Now we in the car headed home to rock some models All I hear in the background is Gucci and Prada But I'm tryna gas these bitches to screw me for nada We the best that done it, confess you fronted Anybody wanna test how much straps, you want it? [Hook - Fat Joe] Aiyyo the gangsta's back Stop it right where you at Let a real nigga rock real murderer rap Tell them thug niggaz, listen to that Gotchu feelin it hard like Joe the God's really bringin it back! [Fat Joe] I'm from my days and legends, since age eleven I was the cause of dope fiends catchin AIDS infections Most of us are dead, but the rest is locked Runnin in the rec room and check me out on the box A CEO could get optioned tryna change the channel It's like tryna take the flesh outta the mouth of hungry cannibals Joe the God, the flow is hard Known for packin two dozen birds like Noah's Ark I'm the realest of 'em, make you feel the pressure Catch you at a club, smack you up, steal ya leather You niggaz soften me, beat you out of the mix Tough talk, tough walk, but you cry like a bitch I see you downin the Cris', I'm not hatin, I'm just aggrevated I ask myself every day, how these faggots made it? Fuck around with the Don and get decapitated I'm sick of hearin 'em (?) for all the cats that made it [Hook - Fat Joe] [Hook 2 - Armageddon] Aiyyo the kid is back Leave it right where you at Let a real nigga hold that, you probably won't clap Tell them thug niggaz, move it on back I'm feelin tight and I'm hot Ready to pop the crack right through your back [Armageddon] That's how Kenny rocks, I'm more advanced than how your learnin I'm like the force of space balance and planets while they churnin Poppin rosary beads, piss on ya candle while it's burnin Rush ya widows crib and pop ya... bodies... Now I know you can feel the heat I generate I'magine when I penetrate ya stomach, and make ya body's center bake We can argue for days, whether it's faster to drop five shots in ya astronaut before you cloud the stash box Splash ya brains on ya birds' laps Swerve you on the curb, crash the Range, and push the front skirt back And murk after that, blurtin curse words Yo I popped that nigga's son one before we catch the first I'ma kill any murderer, leave a nigga burpin up Blood, chokin on chunks of his lung interior Every verse that I spit's a personal riff I meet a ill key frontin, I'm a murder you shit Niggaz play me while distrubin the Bricks I'm like the feelin of the first time they ever held a bird in they grip Motivator thug, scrape 'em, shoot the bolts in his butt Energizin 'em up, make 'em wanna open 'em up Actin like I can't happen till I smack him in his Adam's apple Death to rappin, I don't wanna battle I'd rather rush your studio session and shatter the booth Clap at ya face, give the mic feedback the goof [Hook] [Hook 2] more free lyrics |
3. _ What's Luv?
[Fat Joe:] Put the fuckin' mic on Mic is on Joe Crack the Don uh Yeah, Yeah, Y'All Irv Gotti [Ashanti:] What's love? [Fat Joe:] Ashanti, Terror, Terror Squad It should be about us Be about trust [Chorus: Ashanti (Ja Rule) {Fat Joe}] What's love? (Got to do, got to do with it babe) {Yeah, Yeah, Y'All} What's love? It's about us {It's about us} It's about trust babe {Be about trust} What's love? (Got to do, got to do with it babe) {Yeah, Yeah, Uh} What's love? It should be about us {It should be about us} It should be about trust babe {Be about trust} What's love? [Verse 1: Fat Joe] Yeah, yeah, uh, uh, woo, yeah, slow down baby Let you know from the gate I don't go down lady I wanna chick with thick hips That licks her lips She can be the office type or like to strip Girl you get me aroused how you look in my eye But you talk to much man your ruinin' my high Don't wanna lose the feelin' Cause the roof is chillin' It's on fire & you lookin' Good for the gettin' I'm rida Other in a hoodie or a linner I'ma provider You should see the jewelery on my women & I'm livin' it up The squad stay feelin' the truck With Chicks that's willin' to triz with us uh You say you gotta man & your in love But what's love Gotta do with a little menage After the party Just me & you Could just slide for a few & she could come too That's love! [Chorus] [Verse 2: Fat Joe] Yeah, uh, yeah, yo, mommy, I know you got issues You gotta man But you need to understand That you got something with you Ass is fat, frame is little Tattoo in your chest with his name in the middle Uh, I'm not a hater I just crush a lot & the way you shake your booty I don't want you to stop You Need to come a little closer (You need to come a little closer) & let me put you under my arm like a Don is supposed ta (Like a Don is supposed ta) Please believe You leave with me We'd be freakin' all night like we was on E You need to trust the god & jump in the car For a little hard 8 at the Taj Mahal What's love? [Chorus] [Verse 3: Fat Joe, Ashanti] Yeah, uh, yo, I stroll in the club with my hat down Michael Jack style Hot 7 who the mack now? Not my fault cause they love the kid Ma be the chain or the whip I don't know what it is We just party & bullshit Come on mommy put your body in motion You gotta nigga open You came here with the heart to cheat So you need to sing the song with me All my ladies come on [Ashanti (Fat Joe)] When I look in your eyes there's no stopin' me I want the Don Joey Crack on top of me (Uh-huh) Don't want your stacks (Yeah) Just break my back (Uh) Gonna cut you no sack (Whoo) Cause I'm on it like that (Uh, Come On) Come on (Yeah, Yeah, Y'All) & put it (Yeah, Yeah, Y'All) on me (Put it on ya Girl) on me (I'm put it on ya Girl) [Chorus 2 Times] more free lyrics |
4. _ Definition Of A Don
Yeah.. Definition of a Don It's like I gotta keep remindin you and remindin you Who's that nigga.. You heard the kid Fly was on the casket of all those who appose the squadus It's the motherfuckin Don Cartagena ya heard What?! [Chorus: Remy Martin] They wanna know why ya name is Joey Crack You a hustler, how they think you got the stacks? (Uh) You stuck being in jacks on the blocks witcha paps (Yeah) And the Squad to hard niggaz gotta fall back (Tell 'em) Damn papi, you're shit is icey now (Uh-huh) In the Bronx witcha Benz rims pokin out (Ten mil) You got the niggaz in the pen straight loc'in out But when the don is on nigga close ya mouth [Fat Joe] Yeah, yo You wouldn't understand my story of life I live Most niggaz that really know me got life as bids The trife as kids, this ain't no Scarface shit These niggaz really will kill you, your wife, and kids I walked through many blocks niggaz couldn't stand on Had shit locked before I had a glock to even put my hands on Before I had the dough to put my fams on Before I had rocks sealed in pink tops, tryna get a gram off A wild adolescent, raised by the street Mesmorized by the dealers and the places they eat And when they blazed the heat, I was the shorty to take the handoff Run upstairs, tryna sneak the gat past grandmoms This is how it should be done... my life... Is identical to none, son tryed to duplicate but I knew he was fake Cuz everytime I walked by he turned blue in the face I'm like heavy on the leg when I pop All my change is like heavy on the weight when I cop It's just the way it's done Niggaz tell me they respect the way I blaze them guns On hold it down for the Bronx in the name of Pun [Chorus] [Fat Joe] Yeah uh, my name ring bells like a P.O. Put the pressure on a nigga like I'm right atcha do' With the muzzle out, nigga can't shoke with my dough I'm at his mothers house Beat up his pops, put the pistol in his brother's mouth Wave bricks, whips... jerked a few coke and next play the strip with chrome knowin that they won't forget And on the weekends we shut down clubs You know them crazy Peurto Ricans always fuckin it up! If I can't afford it, I'ma extort it If I can't cut it, I'ma bake it Strip you niggaz butt-naked, I'm a thoroughbred Carry guns and pump heroin Never went O.T. I'm too light for Maryland I'd rather play the streets of New York Where the fiends are guarunteed to keep the meat on my fork I'm just a hustler - feds put the tap on our phones in hopes of cuffin us Then wonder why we livin life so illustrious [Chorus repeat 2x] more free lyrics |
5. _ Still Real
[Fat Joe] It's so depressing, uh.. Be the realest shit I ever wrote (Money and cars bitches) Shit Is Real Part 2.. (drugs) modern day.. (society yaknow?) See what it's like to walk in my shoes It ain't all fun and games (ya heard?) Yo yo I'm sick and tired of stressin, every days a different lesson I'm free-fallin tryna leave this deep depression My son Joey still slow, my moms got cancer in her throat My big brother sniffin dope Lemme know how many motherfucker wanna be just like me Screamed at and treated like shit by your wifey This hot bitch be sweatin the coke cash My baby mother think I grow dough out my ass It's like, how much fight I got left in me? Niggaz won't be happy till they bring the fuckin death of me But you never see Joe look weak or flow off beat and Charlie sees the board in four more weeks [Chorus 2x] You gotta walk where I walked Bang where I bang Slang where I hang To get where I'm going to Stay where I stay Blaze who I blazed Pay dues how I payed To get where I'm going to [Fat Joe] Uh, yo, the South Bronx, nine years later Ain't nuttin changed, niggaz still playa haters T.S. the best that's done it, forever live and never front it Reminisce of when I used to hold heat and tell niggaz "run it" Now we flooded with jewels, hundreds of dudes Crowd the Coliseum to hear they favorite tunes Then at the time of our prime we caught a sick one The angels came down, took my twin Big Pun Shit were unbalanced throughout the whole world All I could do was try to provide for his seeds and his old girl Hope your listenin, tell Ton' that we still missin him I'm like a prisoner in jail with no visitors [Chorus 2x] [Fat Joe] Yeah, uh, aiyyo the third verse is dedicated to you Even though you switched teams, I'm praying for you We used to stay up all night countin dollar for dollar You was my son's godfather, where the fuck is your honor? Can't even rap the shit we did together You'd probably have me shackled locked down doin bids forever You broke the first code I'd like to twist ya wifey till it roasts gold Snitch nigga, turned state to sold ya soul How could a nigga that was clappin in the streets start yappin to the deez, like what I rightly should believe? Like ever verse is a charge, for every hurt there's a scar I never once tried to hurt cha'll I'm just tryna do me, sell a few CD's Buy land in Miami and cop a new B come on! [Joe talking] Motherfuckers think it's sweet Think a nigga got money and a nigga don't feel pain You ain't never feel my pain You don't know what the fuck I'm goin through Niggaz lookin at me like, "He got it made" Like I ain't lose Pun, my grandfather a week later My aunt a month later Like my fuckin sister ain't in a coma right now! You motherfuckers don't know pain! Let's get one thing clear; money'll never buy you happiness My true niggaz walk with me now! [Chorus 2x] more free lyrics |
6. _ We Thuggin (Remix)
[Fat Joe] Ha, ha, ha, ha Uh, uh, uh, yeah, uh For my dirty, dirty D.C. what? Uh, yeah, uh, T.S. Remix y'all [Remy Martin] Remix y'all [Fat Joe] Remix y'all [Remy Martin] The remix y'all [Fat Joe] Crack is back again (ooo-oooh) Had to rip this track again (ooo-oooh) [Remy Martin] And when it's packed like The Garden You know it's the Squadron [Fat Joe] The god, Fat Joe [Remy Martin] And that bitch, Remy Martin [Remy Martin & R. Kelly] We thuggin' [Fat Joe] You know the rest Got the tank top on that show the vest [Remy Martin] I know some chickens that be strippin' and they show they breasts And they all think Joe the best [Fat Joe] Well it's on if they got no regrets Bring them hoes to the low crib by the lake on the coldest sect I got chicks butt-naked feelin' no redress [Remy Martin] Okay, I'm on my way with a load of cess But, I got four niggas in my truck [Fat Joe] And if you bring 'em to my crib, they gettin' fucked up [Remy Martin] I'ma sneak 'em in the back as soon as y'all drunk [Remy Martin & Fat Joe] We take a puff of dro and be like (oo-oo-oooh) [R. Kelly] Yeah, we thuggin', rollin' on dubs, and Off up in the club, wildin' like what Got Cris' on pop, Henny wit no chaser, and mami don't stop Throw it up, six o'clock, 'cause I got four hon-eys in the drop And my man Joe's got the keys to the spot And it's full of honeys, panties with no tops We take a puff of dro and be like (oo-oo-oooh) [Noreaga] Ay, yo, twin ho days and we makin' it hot (say what?) Numero uno on your billboard spot (what, nigga?) Since the days of flow Joe, we be makin' it hot Before Superthug, niggas sold crack on the block You see, uh [Noreaga & R. Kelly] We thuggin', rollin' on dubs, and [Noreaga] Niggas say they still in them bricks, but they wasn't Me and Big Pun ran trains on mad cousins Mami took an E and a half and three wasn't And nigga, yeah, I'ma stay right here (ain't goin' nowhere) It's thugged-out Miller-tainment, and it's somethin' to fear And I ain't got time for diss records (no time for that) Catch me in the streets, and I'ma leave your muthafuckin' bitch naked FJ 560, the five ride with me (we got honeys, y'all) I got some mamis in the club wanna slide with me Ho's at, I drunk 'nough y'all yay Me and my Joe, Hennessey doubles and lattes (hey!) [R. Kelly] Yeah, we thuggin', rollin' on dubs, and Off up in the club, wildin' like what Got Cris' on pop, Henny wit no chaser, and mami don't stop Throw it up, six o'clock, 'cause I got four hon-eys in the drop And my man Joe's got the keys to the spot And it's full of honeys, panties with no tops We take a puff of dro and be like (oo-oo-oooh) [Busta Rhymes] In 2001, we move fast I had to fuck a couple fat bitches all in they ass Yes, I get busy and know and I do all I can (can) Had to meet up with them Terror Squad niggas, my man (man) Yeah, I see a couple of niggas that look real bugged In the corner frontin' like a bunch of real, live thugs Frontin', stackin' my ones and I'm countin' these figgas Got a cooler bitch that's mo' thug than some of these niggas Fuckin' me now, suckin' my ass late Straight drinkin' the Henny, sippin' with no chaser When my bitches be thuggin' niggas that catch vapors Lovin' how my bitches be givin' me paper One by one, watchin' y'all niggas drop off You wack niggas will feel when you hear my gun pop off Get my rocks off, that's when I'm quick to knock your block off And hold a gat when I'm fuckin' and never take my socks off [R. Kelly] Yeah, we thuggin', rollin' on dubs, and Off up in the club, wildin' like what Got Cris' on pop, Henny wit no chaser, and mami don't stop Throw it up, six o'clock, 'cause I got four hon-eys in the drop And my man Joe's got the keys to the spot And it's full of honeys, panties with no tops We take a puff of dro and be like (oo-oo-oooh) more free lyrics |
7. _ He's Not Real
Uh! Bringin It Back To The BX! Wit my nigga Fat Joe, long side my nigga Prospect Holdin the BX down Bronx Burrough....Terror Sqaud [Verse 1-Fat Joe] Yo, everybody talkin gats, really don't pack em 98% of these rapper's is all actor's Stay frontin, like you wild and'll spray somethin Come to find out, you ain't never slanged nothin Think it's the game, gon lose the sport I seen dude's get bruised through fort Then choose the court, a new's report They just pursed the court If you even think of bustin, they ass'll sooth your thoughts A damn shame, I'm from the streets where it's fair game Nigga's will ift you off your feet wit the Can-yan Three in the chest and one in the part For disrespect you, get left right in front of ya moms Joe is the Don, you clean, then show me your arm's For these track's, I'ma fiend like a soldier in 'Nam Only the Bronx will blow your ass outta ya Lugz Fuck love, here we believe in nothin but slugs [Chrous-Prospect&Fat Joe] [Prospect] Always you see him in the club frontin wit the ice grill.... [Fat Joe] Be like, he's alright, but he's not real [Prospect] Actin like he got a money, cause he never hold steel..... [Fat Joe] Be like, he's alright, but he's not real [Prospect] Always see him wit bodyguards around like he kill [Fat Joe] Be like, he's alright, but he's not real [Prospect] So if the feds after indictment's, we know he gon squeal.... [Fat Joe] Be like, he's alright, but he's not real [Verse 2-Prospect] Yo, I squeeze of gats and spit facts when I breath on tracks Got that hot shit, that make you ease on back I'll make you leave the game like Ma$e, and get ya name erased Walk threw from place to place, and change the chase I'm givin him terror, for the new millenium era Automatic Semi's wit the fully clip and the leather Poppin champagne like we celebrating whatever Switch to the chin, shoot top, hair and a feather Versatile, walking threw the aisle, hurtin the crowd Even got the god in the cloud, observing this style He love the way I do this, leavin nigga's clueless It's Prospect, it's off wit ya head, you should've knew this My twin??, cock and squeeze, we stoppin G's You better follow up, these nigga's can't rock wit these Straight up, I speak life threw the mic though Sprayin the town, and layin it down like whoa! [Chrous-Prospect,Fat Joe&Remi Martin] [Prospect] Always see him in the club, frontin wit the ice grill.... [Fat Joe] Be like, he's alright, but he's not real [Prospect] Actin like he got a honey, cause he never hold steel... [Fat Joe] Be like, he's alright, but he's not real [Prospect] Always see him wit bodyguards around like he kill [Fat Joe] He's alright, but he's not real [Prospect] So if the feds after indictment, you know he gon sqeaul.... [Remi Martin] Be like, she's alright, but she's not real [Verse 3-Fat Joe] Yo, ayo I'm lookin for the perfect mami to ride wit me Only wear she like to rock is 560 Swear to her mom's if it's on, she'll die wit me Puff blunts, like to get high just like Whitney Thug type, "Set It Off", like Jada And this chick go both ways, don't hate her Back in the block, they use to try to play her Till the Don out her to the qualities much greater Net Worth, put the tool in the skirt Which you fools know about gettin head in reverse About, clockin grips, and coppin whips You muthafucker's stay frontin, stop poppin shit Let's not forget, who be gettin robbed wit the choker Man, I'm still rockin my same chains from "Flow Joe" And you know Joe stay wit tha mack You hatin the fact, you can't do nathan to crack YA HEARD!!! [Chorus Till Fade] [Intro to Prodigy's "Keep It Thoro"] "Oh y'all nigga's killa's now?" more free lyrics |
8. _ King Of N.Y.
[Saya] An' bamba clad boy feel dem bobbin try an' test now! Is that? Cut off dem blood-clot nigga don't give a fuck! Watta feel like? Don't know how to kill? [Khalid] Uh-uh.. Saya, Saya!! [Saya] What is it Khalid, what is it? [Khalid] The original King of New York has returned The King of New York, the Don Cartagena Joe Crack, Terror Squad leader! (Whoo.. whoo, whoo, whoo, whoo, whoo, whoo!!) [Fat Joe] The fuck?! What?! Yeah, mind on my money; money on my mind Nigga mind on my money; money on my mind Aiyyo, who can test I, the true King of N.Y. Well ever since Big Boy died from Bed-Stuy I've been, controllin the street, holdin the heat Shit I only want what's stolen from me (Nah you ain't fuckin wit us) Rollin with me, could only get you fast cars and Fuck mad bitches and, dine amongst the stars, but we gettin mad chave in the life we live MTV's comin over just to feel my "Crib" Man fuck them other kids! That's how I feel I thought I said it all in "He's Not Real" But you beggin me to kill, must want ya brain spilled I tryna keep cool but it's hard to tame still Shit's still real man you never shoulda bought it Must feel ill to see your boss get extorted Specialize in audits and makin hot tapes This rap shit don't cut it then it's back to flippin weight Man I'm feelin great (Whoo!) Pushin mad units Hustlin is the key to success but could you do it I been layin it down, the spray and the town It's about time the rightful owner claimed his crown [Chorus: Buju Banton + Fat Joe] [BB] Who the fuck you know be fuckin with this?! As Big Pun's knowin you'll be givin a shit! [FJ] Not a damn soul! I let you know from the get go! Wanna war with the Squad, walk through the threshold! [BB] Who the fuck you know be fuckin with this?! As Big Pun's knowin you'll be givin a shit! [FJ] Not any squad or clique can squab with this! Shit I'm O.G. nigga y'all know how this is! [Fat Joe] Hey yo, it's all over, I want a piece of the pie Nigga hand it over or all your seeds gon' die And it don't take much for me to kidnap a DJ Or clap at ya truck while you ridin through the freeway Shit is mad ea-say to wet you up Betta, watch yo' bitch and who's dick she sucked She gon', set you up, I been to the crib I don't know why you surprised bitches love the kid I'm more realer than the way you act A born killer quick to wave the mack And all you niggaz gotta face the fact I pop shit cuz you can't stop me More rich cuz they can't rob me I plant clips at ya fam's lobby Joe the Don and you been warned But niggaz never wanna listen till they kin's gone Now you wanna get it on cuz ya dollars stack Now how you plan to holla back with a hollow back? Joey Crack and I be the truth Don't believe that's the streets till proof Ask the deez how my Eagle blew Betchu sayin, "Damn, what we did to duke?!" Better gather them young'ns and hope you make it through [Chorus 2x] The Don is the King of New York.. The Don is the King of New York... more free lyrics |
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