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Fat Joe

Prove Something

Fat Joe

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Song Information
Prove Something
By: Fat Joe
Released:
About This Song & Song Lyrics

About "Prove Something" by Fat Joe

Fat Joe – Prove Something 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 don't 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 be -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 are are O are 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 don't get it confused
We like dinero in heat nigga, nothin to loose
I know you seen the shoot out scene
Don't make us reneact, 'cause I rather be laid up in ?? with a featured actress

[chorus x2]

Its the T E are are O are 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!

SONGWRITERS:
LYON, ANDRE CHRISTOPHER / VALENZANO, MARCELLO / , Y
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