Artist: Joell Ortiz f/ Fat Joe Album: Free Agent Song: One Shot (Killed for Less) Typed by: Nickolye16@aol.com [Intro: Fat Joe] + (Joell Ortiz) Cook! (Yeah!) Yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah, uhh It's that killa crack street music (It's that Block Royal, Terror Squad music) Crack, cook (Joell Ortiz nigga) Listen (Knobody, WHAT UP!) [Chorus: Joell Ortiz] + (Fat Joe) One shot, two shot, three shot, OHH! OHH! That'll send him right to the morgue Four shot, five shot, six shot, shit, shit That's for the wife and the kids (I don't care about your money or that shit on your chest) Niggaz get killed for less! (And all that shit you be talkin man we ain't impressed) Niggaz get killed for less! [Fat Joe] Whether, closed caption or high definition You could probably find me on that big screen, diamonds glistenin "Ain't this a bitch man? That's Joey from the Bronx And all the dirt he done, how the fuck he mix the songs nigga?" He ain't lyin, I'm a chemist on that table My needle with the beige make the competition hate you Couple deaths on the block, now they rate you Lil' Dex'll pull the trigger if I say shoot One shot, two shot, 'nother nigga down CSI searchin but his face can't be found nigga Shit is crazy on the streets of the Bronx Niggaz yellin "Shots fired" but police won't respond Where I'm from niggaz pump that bass And holler at your lil' sister right in front of your face nigga The working man's a sucker you heard, see Nigga's gettin hot for twenty years, still thirsty I guess they share a bond with the 'caine Now that's what I call rekindlin old flames Get it? Who else but Coca in the Rover? Sports kitted, coulda been my 'ghini or my 'rossa Life is for the living, get a chauffeur Find yourself a bitch that don't mind eatin chocha We spit murder, you's a victim, boy If that ass get flashy we'll stick ya, boy! [Chorus] [Joell Ortiz] Nah.. so don't die over nothin, let your lil' crew gas ya ass Cause on my block I was the Doc, before Aftermath I had that, rock in the spot the fiends had to blast When I, chopped it with pop and shoot past the glass See I really hustle homie, this ain't no fabrication They never called me back, I filled out many applications Watchin these corny niggaz come up, that was aggravatin So I hit the corner, told 'em beat it like they masturbatin I tried to have the patience I asked God for the answers, he took too long to respond so I had a chat with Satan He told me my dreams ain't have to stay imagination Turned my wrecked Timbs to a stretch Benz for my graduation Had all the lil' sluts at my prom salivatin Scooped my diploma, I'm gone but I kept on calculatin Colleges holla cause every grade I had's amazin It was school books or cool looks when I pass with Daytons Clappin at plays or hearin my new Magnum flamin Schoolgirls or I'ma earl, look who this bastard's blazin Long story short, man I had these faggots hatin I'm handsome, I'm cool, I got guap, and I get it crack-a-latin I come from the place where you get your hood passes made in A brook where the only thing shook's on the stove marinatin So when they say congratulations over the respect my pad is gainin Know I ain't goin back, I'm aimin like [Chorus] [Outro: Fat Joe] AOWWWW! That's what the fuck I'm talkin about That real gangsta music, BIATCH! Like that shit, you like how that shit sounds nigga BLAT!