South Park/South Bronx Testo

Fat Joe) Yeah, Terror Squad motherfuckers Dopehouse, that nigga Joey Crack ya heard Uh, no doubt, yeah, uh, yo [Fat Joe] What up Houston, same shit new place It's about time y'all niggas featured on a Screw tape Fat Joe and SPM, the best be them Any set trying to test, gone rest within You fucking with mexicans, and pure bordos Down ass niggas that'll blow you with the sawed-off You know you see the photos in the Lowrider mags I'm blowing like a dragon, in a loced out wagon Car just sagging, and we shitting on fools Chicas go crazy when they see my 22's Forget them other dudes, man they numbers is up Terror Squad, Dopehouse who's fucking with us I guess it's the feddy, I done got em all scared of us More ridas, more guns you ain't prepared for us There's no comparing us, we real and you fake Like going in too deep, you can't chew straight [Chorus - 2x] The South Bronx The South, South Bronx South Park The South, South Park [SPM] Up jump the boogie, to the boogie down Bronx Anyone against us catching hot rocks You fucking cops, know who shot up the parking lot SP got more red dots than chicken pocks Two hitting glocks at my door panels Putting holes in your flannels, now how you like them apples Everyday I'm in khakis and a wife beater And everyday I pour a four in a two liter Fuck some brew nigga, I'ma stay a true sipper My bitch tripping, cause my shirt stay full of glitter I'm the last of the litter, the fucking runt And this weed in my blunt, ain't no fucking pump So what, I'm here till I go Collabo with Fat Joe, just to let you rats know This is family on Happy P's jamming beats You hoes ain't balling, take those twenties off that Camry [Chorus - 2x] [SPM] You motherfuckers got no idea what I've been through I'm in the club packing my grandmother's jinsu Smoking tough, my jewelry is broken cuffs Loading slugs, somebody give Los a hug Don't discuss much if it ain't bout paper I built the nine bedroom on a solid acre I'm murdering, fuck it I'll kill her and him Hit the curb, and fuck off a perfect rim I buy iy, cook it and serve it My weed is lime green just like the Kermit No the churchin and the world could ever clean my scrill I raid my own dopehouse and say it's just a drill I'm on glash on my ass like a peacock While you fake niggas changing like the weed spot And my team got boriquas and mexicans We smith and wessin'n, fuck that fighting and wrestling [Chorus - 2x]