(feat. Fat Joe)



[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 x2]

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 x2]



[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 x2]