Fat Joe Definition Of A Don Feat Remy Martin Lyrics

Definition Of A Don Feat Remy Martin Lyrics

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 

 What?! 

  

 [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 

  

 [Chorus] 

  

 [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 

  

 [Chorus repeat 2x