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Тексты песен на английском, аккорды, табулатуры, гитара, Texts of songs, the song text, chords, notes
Тексты песен на английском, аккорды, табулатуры, гитара, Texts of songs, the song text, chords, notes » F » Fat Joe
Prove Something - текст песни



Prove Something


East New York!! oh god!!


Yeah, got that gangsta gangsta gully gully


Yeah, big business, Joe Crack the don


Terror Squad baby, BX boro, holdin down to the death


It's nothin realer than this you heard, uh what huh





[Verse 1]


Its like I'm always out to prove somethin


Everytime I stop on the block


I set up shop and try to move somethin


And I'm talkin about kilo's and pounds


Fuck a desert eagle


I got shit that spit over 300 rounds


Can tell by the scar on my neck


I spar with the best


Joey boombay-ay, hit hard with the left


Sharp with the right, I dont know why I bother


Y'all not retarded


Man ya know what the squadron is like


And he can get it too


But I let him die slow death I probably just collectin his food


I'm deadin ya crew


To tell ya the truth we not stoppin


I'm like lil' lease from b-street man I keep poppin


The streets knockin my shit, the d's watchin my shift


We can do this however, east glock or the fifth


I leave you chumps to frame, right where you standin


Daughter slaughtered and maimed you should have paid the ransom





[chorus x2]


Its the T E R R O R squad, nigga get it right


Its the nigga joe the don


And the kid flow hard, ask the clique


Niggas be like you crazy, he got classic shit





[Verse 2]


Its the killa kid from the bronx


Holdin down to the death


You can hear the squad comin


By the sound of the techs


A hundred rounds in a sec


Leave you on front page


You would think I was down with the ROC


The way I just blazed


I puff haze to keep my mind at ease


Can't wait for the day to see shyne released


This hip hop shit is unjust, who you gon' trust


When most of these record label execs is dumb fucks


I keep a gun tuck under my belly


Only nigga on the island makin calls from the celly


We watchin belly on the DV, 60 inch TV


Flat shit attatch to the back of the CP


This game need me, I'm like gotti once I'm gone


All you gonna have left is a bunch of fake dons


Champagne with the women, run a game for the puddin


Its all the same, still runnin trains with my hoodmen


A bunch of goodmen, but dont get it confused


We like dinero in heat nigga, nothin to loose


I know you seen the shoot out scene


Dont make us reneact, cuz I rather be layed up in ?? with a featured actress





[chorus x2]





Its the T E R R O R squad, nigga get it right


Its the nigga joe the don


And the kid flow hard, ask the clique


Niggas be like you crazy, he got classic shit





Yea, hell yea, uh brought to you by the realest motherfuckers in this game


The infamous terror squad, yea, real niggas, real dons


Real G's haha, come on, woo uh


Ton' Montana rest in peace forever, never forget.. Big Pun!



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