Cook
(Yeah)
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, uhh
It's that k**a crack street music
(It's that Block Royal, Terror Squad music)
Crack, cook
(Joell Ortiz n***a)
Listen
(Nobody, what up)
One shot, two shot, three shot, oh, oh
That'll send him right to the morgue
Four shot, five shot, six shot, sh**, sh**
That's for the wife and the kids
(I don't care about your money or that sh** on your chest)
n***az get k**ed for less
(And all that sh** you be talkin' man we ain't impressed)
n***az get k**ed for less
Whether, closed caption or high definition
You could probably find me on that big screen, diamonds glistenin'
Ain't this a b**h man? That's Joey from the Bronx
And all the dirt he done, how the f** he mix the songs n***a?
He ain't lyin', I'm a chemist on that table
My needle with the beige make the competition hate you
Couple d**hs on the block, now they rate you
Lil' Dex'll pull the trigger if I say shoot
One shot, two shot 'nother n***a down
CSI searchin but his face can't be found n***a
sh** is crazy on the streets of the Bronx
n***az yellin' "Shots fired" but police won't respond
Where I'm from n***az pump that ba**
And holler at your lil' sister right in front of your face n***a
The working man's a s**er you heard, see
n***a's gettin' hot for twenty years, still thirsty
I guess they share a bond with the 'caine
Now that's what I call rekindlin' old flames
Get it? Who else but Coca in the Rover?
Sports kitted, coulda been my 'ghini or my 'rossa
Life is for the living, get a chauffeur
Find yourself a b**h that don't mind eatin' chocha
We spit murder, you's a victim, boy
If that a** get flashy we'll stick ya, boy
One shot, two shot, three shot, oh, oh
That'll send him right to the morgue
Four shot, five shot, six shot, sh**, sh**
That's for the wife and the kids
(I don't care about your money or that sh** on your chest)
n***az get k**ed for less
(And all that sh** you be talkin' man we ain't impressed)
n***az get k**ed for less
Nah, so don't die over nothin, let your lil' crew gas ya a**
'Cause on my block I was the Doc, before aftermath
I had that, rock in the spot the fiends had to blast
When I, chopped it with pop and shoot past the gla**
See I really hustle homie, this ain't no fabrication
They never called me back, I filled out many applications
Watchin' these corny n***az come up, that was aggravatin'
So I hit the corner, told 'em beat it like they masturbatin'
I tried to have the patience
I asked God for the answers, he took too long to respond
So I had a chat with Satan
He told me my dreams ain't have to stay imagination
Turned my wrecked Timbs to a stretch Benz for my graduation
Had all the lil' s*uts at my prom salivatin'
Scooped my diploma, I'm gone but I kept on calculatin'
Colleges holla cause every grade I had's amazin'
It was school books or cool looks when I pa** with Daytons
Clappin' at plays or hearin' my new Magnum flamin'
Schoolgirls or I'ma earl, look who this ba*tard's blazin'
Long story short, man I had these f*ggots hatin'
I'm handsome, I'm cool, I got guap and I get it crack-a-latin'
I come from the place where you get your hood pa**es made in
A brook where the only thing shook's on the stove marinatin'
So when they say congratulations over the respect
My pad is gainin'
Know I ain't goin' back, I'm aimin' like
One shot, two shot, three shot, oh, oh
That'll send him right to the morgue
Four shot, five shot, six shot, sh**, sh**
That's for the wife and the kids
(I don't care about your money or that sh** on your chest)
n***az get k**ed for less
(And all that sh** you be talkin' man we ain't impressed)
n***az get k**ed for less
Aww, that's what the f** I'm talkin' about
That real gangsta music, b*atch
Like that sh**, you like how that sh** sounds n***a
Blat