feat. Fat Joe, M.O.P.
[Fat Joe]
yeah uh, GangStarr
Crack Man, M.O.P. uh, BX, Brooknam, haha come on
living legends, ya heard me?
yeah uh yo uh

I got seven Mac 11s about eight .38
Nine nines, Mac 10s
man this shit never end
Even if the apple won't spin
I reach in my back pocket and blast you and his twin
Niggaz yellin out the window "Joe's at it again"
But this bastard's got lawyers, keep him outta the pen
I mean feds wanna knock me just cuz I'm cocky
An arrogant fuck, wave "Hi" when they watch me
Can't stop me everytime official
Better find my residuals or this nine gon' lift you
"He was a fine individual" what the papers scriptured
Had him on the front page in his graduation pictures
And they probably never hit you if you brought your glock
Me and my gat like Wilson, we all we got
We walk the scorchin blocks with the hawk on top
Even if the old ladies love to call the cops
I got guns

[Lil' Fame]
You got, he got, they got
M dot, O dot, P my nigga we got guns
Big ones, extra large heat
Humongous shit that won't fit up under your car seat
Pop in a heart beat
Keep the cannon in my reach
Lay you flat on your back like you was tannin on the beach
We keep them damn thangs full of hollows
And I'm from Christopher bitch, bang with the Wallace
Fit raw this nigga you ain't loco
You're buttocks big boy, your heart pumps Sunoco
Brownsville deep in my genes
I show you bad boy for real, keep thinkin shit is Peaches and Cream
We'll run you down, MO-Ps hunt ya down
Gun ya down, guns sing like blaow
Raise up cock pot my biscuit for my nigga O.G. had quick shit
We got guns

We got, we got, they got (GUNS!)

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