Rock Ya Body - Fat Joe

Aowwwwwwwwww!

Cool & Dre

I was the one who believed in you!

Hahahaha

I got one bad chick, she by my side

About two more wait-in outside

Pull out the red carpet walk past the line

Pass the keys, tell 'em please valet my ride

And just — rock ya body body, rock ya body body

Rock, ya body body, rock ya body

Just rock — who the fuck you know like Cook?

Kill a nigga on a verse, make 'em dance on a hook, nowwww

Joey see/C-Murder like five-oh-fo'

Better have my money cause I knock on do’s

Better yet I leave 17 peepholes, squeeze with the eagle

Bet I murder like five-oh-fo' - Crack, yes!

You gon' need protection

This dude mad nice with the Smith & Wessun

You know, automatic, stick shift revolver

Find me in the attic, long dist' the target

After that, do the walk-through like phone booths

What’chu gon' do when them dudes run up on you and

Rock ya body body, catch somebody

Gon' park, the black Denali, watch his body

Just DROP — yeah I’m street like that

Pull off the Benny Blanco, yeah it beez like that

Your whole crew boomerang, they ain’t G’s like that

Cause when it’s time to shoot they quick to point the heat right back

Nigga

Yo, if Suge rapped how hard would it be

But he don’t, so the closest thing you got is me

Ain’t no damn near a rapper this loc' as me

Cook Coke on top is how it’s 'sposed to be, nigga!

Yeah the Bronx is back

It’s my niggas Cool & Dre on this monster track

(What they do Fat?) Yeah we been on some Don shit

Been stompin niggas unconcious

Been sendin niggas to trauma;

I bet now you wish

The only beef that you had is wit’cha baby’s momma

You best to wear your vest as a doo-rag

Cause I’mma headbussa, you don’t want me to do dat

Yeah I need a new muh’fucker to shoot at

More Bin Laden talk, disappearin like Pookie from «New Jack»

Said it, yeah it’s all out war

So do your jumpin jacks nigga, make you hit the floor

Yes, please believe she gorgeous

And she ain’t gon' leave once she see the fortress

The blood red G-T'll leave ya nauseous

And as for the wife, mami please, we’re bosses

Crenshaw, you can find me on the strip

Black Ferrari, nine milli' on the hip

You in South Beach, wet willies on the strip

Shit, I’m in Dade County, smokin phillies, bumpin Trick nigga

New York y’all know what it is!

Got a hundred guns, got a hundred clips

Niggas never listen 'til they vision turn bitch

Pawn you out of Vegas butt-naked in a ditch

(That's right) By now you can see that I’m global

Slappin MC’s for the dreams that they sold you

And all the false prophecies of niggas takin shots at me

Find yourself hangin from your feet off the balcony