Gangsta

[Intro: Fat Joe]

Ollie ollie oxen free!

Like one, two, three

Red light, green light, one, two, three

Yo I pop six boxes, play some scalezes

Pitch the ball I'ma smack that shit

Yeah, ohhhhhh, going.. going

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!

[Fat Joe]

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 getting recognized, supplyin connects with pies

Pumpin pounds of weight, nigga like exercise

Joe been over quarter five 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

[Chorus: children singing]

Gangsta, gangsta

I wanna be a gangsta

My daddy was a gangsta

Gangsta, gangsta

I wanna be a gangsta

My daddy was a gangsta

[Fat Joe]

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 pretending to like you

Thinkin you getting head but she's just duckin so they can snipe you

Movin from state to state, runnin everything from guns to trains

and pushing packs from eight to eight

You know I can't say her name but she was a looker

Pretty thing, such a shame how this life has took her

Now she's raising hell in the cell, no more his are hollering

You might suffer the same fate if you repeat the following..

Sell drugs, use drugs, get caught up in the mix

End up locked up or dead in a casket, that's it

[Chorus]