Fat Joe feat. Remy Martin



Definition Of A Don

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]