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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,

{*Happy Perez scratching*}

[Fat Joe]
Terror Squad, motherfuckers
Dope House (Whoa, whoa)
That nigga Joey Crack, ya heard (Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa)
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

[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