Artist: Lone Star Ridaz f/ South Park Mexican (SPM), Fat Joe Album: 40 Dayz, 40 Nightz Song: South Park/South Bronx Typed by: Lil Hustle, no1wammy@hotmail.com {*Happy Perez scratching*} [Fat Joe] Yeah Terror Squad, motherfuckers Dope House (Whoa, whoa) That nigga Joey Crack, ya heard (Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa) Uh Yeah No doubt (Yeah, uh, what) What, uh, whoa, whoa Yeah (Whoa) Uh (Uh) Yo (Uh) [Verse 1: Fat Joe] What up, Houston Same shit, new place It's about time, ya niggas featured on a Screw tape Fat Joe and SPM, the best be them Any set tryin' to test, gone rest with 'em Man, you fuckin' with Mexicans and pure boros Down ass niggas that'll blow you with the sawed-off You know you see the photos in the Lowrider mags I'm blowin' like a dragon in a loc'ed out wagon Car just saggin' and we shittin' on fools Chicas go crazy when they see my 22"s Forget them other dudes, man, they numbers is up Terror Squad, Dope House, who's fuckin' with us I guess it's the fedi, I done got 'em all scared of us More riders, more gun, you ain't prepared for us There's no comparin' us, we real and you fake Like goin' in too deep, you can't chew straight Hook: [Fat Joe] The South Bronx The South, South Bronx [SPM] South Park The South, South Park [Fat Joe] The South Bronx The South, South Bronx [SPM] South Park The South, South Park [South Park Mexican] (Verse 2) Up jump the boogie, to the boogie down Bronx Anyone against us catchin' hot rocks You fucking cops know who shot up the parking lot S.P. got more red dots than chicken pox Two hidden glocks in my door panels Puttin' holes in your flannels Now how you like them apples Everyday, I'm in khakis and a wife beater And everyday, I pour a four in a two liter Fuck some brew, nigga, I'm a stay a true sipper My bitch trippin' cause my shirt stay full of glitter I'm the last of the litter The fucking runt And this weed in my blunt, ain't no fuckin' pump So what I'm here til I go Collabo with Fat Joe, just to let you rats know This is family on Happy P's jamming beats You hoes ain't ballin', take those twenties off that Camry Repeat Hook (Verse 3) You motherfuckers got no idea what I've been through I'm in the club, packin' my grandmother's jinsu Smokin' tough My jewelry is broken cuffs Loadin' slugs, somebody give Los a hug Don't discuss much if it ain't 'bout paper I built the nine bedroom on a solid acre I'm murderin' Fuck it, I'll kill her and him Hit the curb And fuck off a perfect rim I buy it Cook it And serve it My weed is lime green just like the Kermit Know the churchin' and the world could ever clean my scrill I raid my own Dope House and say, "It's just a drill" I'm on glash, on my ass like a peacock While you fake niggas changin' like the weed spot And my team got boriquas and Mexicans We Smif-N-Wessin', and fuck that fightin' and wrestlin' Repeat Hook