Lyrics Language: Scots Song writer/composer(s): J Eaddy, Joseph Cartagena
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Fat JoeGangsta Lyrics:
Ollie ollie, oxen free
Like one, two, three
Red light, green light, one, two, three
Yo, I pop six boxes, play some scalezes, uh
Pitch the ball, I'ma smack that shit
Yeah, ohh, goin', goin'
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'
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 gettin' recognized, supplyin' connects with pies
Pumpin' pounds of weight, nigga like exercise
Joe been over quarter five with 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
Gangsta, gangsta
I wanna be a gangsta
My daddy was a gangsta
Gangsta, gangsta
I wanna be a gangsta
My daddy was a gangsta
(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 pretendin' to like you
Thinkin' you gettin' head, but she's just duckin' so they can snipe you
Movin' from state to state, runnin' everythin' from guns to trains
And pushin' packs from eight to eight
You know I can't say her name, but she was a looker
Pretty thin', such a shame how this life has took her
Now she's raisin' Hell in the cell, no more his are hollerin'
You might suffer the same fate if you repeat the followin'
Sell drugs, use drugs, get caught up in the mix
End up locked up or dead in a casket, that's it
Gangsta, gangsta
I wanna be a gangsta
My daddy was a gangsta
Gangsta, gangsta
I wanna be a gangsta
My daddy was a gangsta
The lyrics on the most recent version are sanctioned by the composer, or owner of the rights to the lyrics, however, there may be lyrics that are more complete on the prior version(s) that have been submitted by a contributor to mp3lyrics.org
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