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    [Intro: Fat Joe]
    Ollie ollie oxen free!
    Like one, two, three
    Red light, green light, one, two, three
    Yo I pop six boxes, play some scalezes
    Pitch the ball I'ma smack that shit
    Yeah, ohhhhhh, going.. going
    Yeah yeah what up son?
    Yo I got this twenty two nigga play me like..
    Nah, I ain't got no bullets
    Yeah yeah yeah yeah
    Top two for five, three for five, we rollin!

    [Fat Joe]
    Now I'm in too deep
    Only sixteen already hold a name in the street
    Makin the fifth scream, rockin older niggas to sleep
    Make a fiend strip naked cuz he owed for a week
    Now the Squad's getting recognized, supplyin connects with pies
    Pumpin pounds of weight, nigga like exercise
    Joe been over quarter five dope and homicide
    Long before Charlie got knocked, until Madonna died
    Young and not givin a fuck
    There ain't a nigga I ain't hit when I buck and left 'em shit outta luck
    I'ma gangsta like my daddy was, hittin number spots
    Sendin me to my room while he was puffin pot
    Still I use to peak from the door, couldn't believe what I saw
    Stacks of money on the bed and the floor
    It wasn't long til I did what he did
    I was an innocent kid and got exposed to the life that he lived
    I went from grams into O's, pounds to bricks
    On the strip pimpin hoes on some goldie shit
    I'ma gangsta by destiny, OG's selected me
    I earned my spot, my whole team elected me

    [Chorus: children singing]
    Gangsta, gangsta
    I wanna be a gangsta
    My daddy was a gangsta
    Gangsta, gangsta
    I wanna be a gangsta
    My daddy was a gangsta

    [Fat Joe]
    Yeah, unh, yo, unh
    Here goes this chick doing ten in the bing
    But 'less we rhyme time we see her do it again
    She started out fuckin dudes that resembled her father
    Mom knew shoulda schooled her but the bitch didn't bother
    You couldn't blame her cuz she got it from her
    She was a rider from jump, her pop's died in the hands of a chump
    Now she's mad at the world, no more daddy's little girl
    Now she's rockin bandanas, no more Shirley Temple girl
    Now she be runnin wit some scramblers that be down in Alabama
    Packin twin hammers, screamin "Life doesn't matter"
    It's a vicious cycle, her game is pretending to like you
    Thinkin you getting head but she's just duckin so they can snipe you
    Movin from state to state, runnin everything from guns to trains
    and pushing packs from eight to eight
    You know I can't say her name but she was a looker
    Pretty thing, such a shame how this life has took her
    Now she's raising hell in the cell, no more his are hollering
    You might suffer the same fate if you repeat the following..
    Sell drugs, use drugs, get caught up in the mix
    End up locked up or dead in a casket, that's it

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