A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z #

FAT JOE lyrics : "Success"

Yeah
This joint right here is goin out to everybody gettin money
I mean the real CREAM

All up and down the East and West coast
Check it [echoes]


[Chorus: x2]

Hustlin is the key to success

Money is the key to sex
The life is gettin cash, drinkin Mo', gettin blessed
The games people play

The names people slay
It's just another ordinary day


One's for the cash, two's for every blunt's ash
Three's for all the 40 brews goin to cruise the bowel
Four's for the drugs, sex, and power

I be the top dolla scala, rockin gold collars
While you tryin to sip the juice, I'm takin swallows
Step into my zone and get blown, ? internationally known

Yeah, in case you haven't heard the rep
Have an appetite for beef and get, hand fed led
Rapid-fire echoes through your, vicinity

Why you messin with this ^!$$% from Trinity?
For every shell that fell, there's a story to tell
But it's a fine line between grapevines and pines

Knahmean? There's no room for snitches and loud (*##$es
But it's always room for riches and deep ditches
That's how it be in this everlasting game

Declaring war on @@#!s, and leavin chumps slain
So maintain, and put the frontin to a rest
Or today'll be the grand openin of your chest

Success, triple beam, knahmean?
Dolla dolla bill


[Chorus]

The streets are full of vengeance, and it's expensive

If you don't organize your words right in your sentence
Twelve gauge holes take souls and lives are lost
Who said an arm and a leg was a high cost to toss?

Things are done different, in my zip code
Hollow tips implode, dum-dums explode
Now your crew is screamin like they see demons when I reload

You can't comprehend, act like you want it for clarity
I'm pushin wigs, handin out jigs like charity
You best to get your groove on, or get moved on

Or play the hot steppa, and die with your shoes on
I collects $$# and cash
While my crew consumes liquor and hash, and keep the stash

Whether, hustlin or dustin we get busy with ours
T.S., T.A.T., respect for miles
The Bronx is the turf, South is the area

Bring ten, bring twenty, the more guns the merrier
Nobody's bad as me, no cops nabbin me
Front if you dare and I'll change your whole anatomy

For real... uh!

[Chorus repeat to fade]

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