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    Fat Joe / Lyrics

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    "Prove Something" Lyrics

    Fat Joe

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    Duration:00:03:56
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    Lyrics

    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!
    This song was submitted on September 11th, 2009 and last modified on November 24th, 2016.
    Copyright with Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group.
    Written by Andre Christopher Lyon, Marcello Valenzano.
    Lyrics licensed by LyricFind.

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