It's like I gotta keep remindin you and remindin you
 Who's that nigga.. You heard the kid
 Fly was on the casket of all those who appose the squadus
 It's the motherfuckin Don Cartagena ya heard
 What?!

 [Chorus: Remy Martin]
 They wanna know why ya name is Joey Crack
 You a hustler, how they think you got the stacks? (Uh)
 You stuck being in jacks on the blocks witcha paps (Yeah)
 And the Squad to hard niggaz gotta fall back (Tell 'em)
 Damn papi, you're shit is icey now (Uh-huh)
 In the Bronx witcha Benz rims pokin out (Ten mil)
 You got the niggaz in the pen straight loc'in out
 But when the don is on nigga close ya mouth

 [Fat Joe]
 Yeah, yo
 You wouldn't understand my story of life I live
 Most niggaz that really know me got life as bids
 The trife as kids, this ain't no Scarface shit
 These niggaz really will kill you, your wife, and kids
 I walked through many blocks niggaz couldn't stand on
 Had shit locked before I had a glock to even put my hands on
 Before I had the dough to put my fams on
 Before I had rocks sealed in pink tops, tryna get a gram off
 A wild adolescent, raised by the street
 Mesmorized by the dealers and the places they eat
 And when they blazed the heat, I was the shorty to take the handoff
 Run upstairs, tryna sneak the gat past grandmoms
 This is how it should be done... my life...
 Is identical to none, son tryed to duplicate but I knew he was fake
 Cuz everytime I walked by he turned blue in the face
 I'm like heavy on the leg when I pop
 All my change is like heavy on the weight when I cop
 It's just the way it's done
 Niggaz tell me they respect the way I blaze them guns
 On hold it down for the Bronx in the name of Pun

 [Chorus]

 [Fat Joe]
 Yeah uh, my name ring bells like a P.O.
 Put the pressure on a nigga like I'm right atcha do'
 With the muzzle out, nigga can't shoke with my dough
 I'm at his mothers house
 Beat up his pops, put the pistol in his brother's mouth
 Wave bricks, whips... jerked a few coke and next play the strip
 with chrome knowin that they won't forget
 And on the weekends we shut down clubs
 You know them crazy Peurto Ricans always fuckin it up!
 If I can't afford it, I'ma extort it
 If I can't cut it, I'ma bake it
 Strip you niggaz butt-naked, I'm a thoroughbred
 Carry guns and pump heroin
 Never went O.T. I'm too light for Maryland
 I'd rather play the streets of New York
 Where the fiends are guarunteed to keep the meat on my fork
 I'm just a hustler - feds put the tap
 on our phones in hopes of cuffin us
 Then wonder why we livin life so illustrious

 [Chorus repeat 2x