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    Yeah.. Definition of a Don
    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

    [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


    [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

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