You Don't Really Wanna
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Terror Era Squad
Professional 3, Cook Coke Crack, Uh
In about a few seconds, the teacher will begin to speak
Lil' Fat Joe, Remy Ma
Uh, Follow me now, Sin, see we be rockin'
Terror Squad
Come on now, Cook, Cook, Cook Coke
Fat Joe Camacho
Cook, Cook, Cook Coke, come on
Yeah, Clue, DJ Clue
Yeah, yeah, yeah
You know it's a problem, problem whenever Remy 'round
I gets it poppin' like any day at the Cherry Lounge
I'm 'bout my biz, chips big like Poppa
Things got my mouth like a Desert so I'm sippin' Storm Vodka
Bitches be talkin' greasy like I don't got a crew
How you livin' a Fabolous life and you ain't got a Clue?
I don't gotta do much to get you touched
Got niggas that'll kill ya for some huff and a Vanilla Dutch
Remy Ma, motherfucker, picture me lettin' a bitch slap me
F.Y.I., nobody ever gat me
So when I hear the rumors y'all know I'm laughin'
I'm from the Bronx, New York, this shit just can't happen
So keep actin' like you just rappin', please test us
See if we really walk around the metal detectors
I already put money aside, so front if you want to
I already know I'm gon' catch a few losses
You don't wanna war with the best
You don't wanna have to roll with a vest
But you don't really want a hole in your chest
You don't really wanna die a slow death
You don't want us to see how long you can hold your breath
You don't really wanna fuck with my crew
You don't know what to do, but you don't wanna be in ICU
'Cause when them things squeeze, somebody gon' bleed
And it ain't gon' be nobody from my team
Now everybody wanna spit crack, it's crack the truth
Countless times I done proved these facts to you
I done jumped off the stage and attacked a few
Showtime at the Apollo 'cause he act a fool
Now niggas know better when the X involved
I mean, X-X-X, now your rep is scarred
Your whole repertoire, this is G as it gets
And this is all the motherfuckin' thanks I get
Put myself in your shoes, probably hate me too
Stuntin' through them Bronx blocks in that baby blue
Phantom, either you love him or can't stand him
Either way you cut it, it's nothin' to blam-blam ya
Word around town is Keyser's back
Without the limp or the act, just 9s and MACs
Man, I rap hoods that you wish you could
From the Bronx to Cabrini, bitches lovin' me good
Now that's mine, what you gon' do for yours?
Nice show, but look at how my fools applaud
Lights flashin', but these cannons ain't bitches
And we damn sure won't bust your shoulders, we'll hit ya
You don't wanna war with the best
You don't wanna have to roll with a vest
But you don't really want a hole in your chest
You don't really wanna die a slow death
You don't want us to see how long you can hold your breath
You don't really wanna fuck with my crew
You don't know what to do, but you don't wanna be in ICU
'Cause when them things squeeze, somebody gon' bleed
And it ain't gon' be nobody from my team
Fat Joe, baby pa
Professional 3, y'all
Def Jam