Terror Squad - Yeah Yeah Yeah
[Chorus: Remy Ma]
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Yeah yeah yeah yeah
Check it
[Verse 1: Remy Ma]
You see the girl get it poppin' like no other
Now they call me streets 'cause I, be on the block and I'm so gutter
My flow a butter; see Rem' got a whole lot of game
But none of y'all lame dudes gon' fuck her
I'm on some chill shit
But if you frontin' then I will flip
I'll give it to a little chick real quick
Oh you a real bitch? You ain't a bit real
You got little tits and your face looks like Emmitt Till
First I'ma get it hot, then I'ma get a deal
My budget none stop, my advance 10 mill
And when I'm not in the hood, I'm rockin' the hood
Smoke Vanilla dutches and stuff on Holly-a-wood
And if I, pollyin' the dick it's gotta be good
I tell him I could change his life just like the lottery could
And now I got him good, he believes me and he should
Some dudes don't go down but a lot of them would
I know this nigga name, Eat-it-out, he like to eat it out
I just cooked in the crib, he still want to eat it out (damn!)
Oh God, its Remy Martin
In a hot pink Porsche with the purple carpets, nigga!
[Chorus: Remy Ma]
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Yeah yeah yeah yeah
[Remy Ma]
Oh God!
[Verse 2: Fat Joe (Remy Ma)]
Hollywood swingin'
Uhh, yo
Crack, who could believe he's in the cockpit (cockpit)
Overseas, movin' keys like a locksmith (yeah)
Rocks from Witsick in the sits of neck (okay)
All I do is warn 'cause that's the big boy jet (okay)
Uh, you never rocked with the R. in Chicago (noo!)
Or I picked up a bad bitch in a Murcielago (noo!)
I got cribs, better yet estates, man (man)
I'm in L.A. with Atlanta plates fam (fam)
Still niggas wanna go against Crack (Crack!)
But that's like (?) goin' against Shaq (Shaq!)
And that's too much Diesel, I got too much people (people)
Muh'fuckers, you crazy I'll leave you (I'll leave you!)
And I ain't got to tell how many sets I trip
But you can find me on the woods now that's a testament
Or maybe at a lounge with an extra bitch
Eye candy of the month, goddamn she sick!
She got a problem, I can help her with that
Tell her man that she's fuckin' with Crack
Bet he won't do nothin' (nope)
Frontin' like he gon' do somethin' (nope)
Quick to tell you that his whole crew stuntin' (talk to him!)
Talk to me, c'mon
[Chorus: Remy Ma]
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Yeah yeah yeah yeah
Yeah!
[Outro: Fat Joe]
Yeah, feel that right there
Nod your head to this shit right here, that real hip-hop right there
It's Cook Coke Crack, TS, Remy Ma
Album coming, summer's ours cocksuckers
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Yeah yeah yeah yeah
Check it
[Verse 1: Remy Ma]
You see the girl get it poppin' like no other
Now they call me streets 'cause I, be on the block and I'm so gutter
My flow a butter; see Rem' got a whole lot of game
But none of y'all lame dudes gon' fuck her
I'm on some chill shit
But if you frontin' then I will flip
I'll give it to a little chick real quick
Oh you a real bitch? You ain't a bit real
You got little tits and your face looks like Emmitt Till
First I'ma get it hot, then I'ma get a deal
My budget none stop, my advance 10 mill
And when I'm not in the hood, I'm rockin' the hood
Smoke Vanilla dutches and stuff on Holly-a-wood
And if I, pollyin' the dick it's gotta be good
I tell him I could change his life just like the lottery could
And now I got him good, he believes me and he should
Some dudes don't go down but a lot of them would
I know this nigga name, Eat-it-out, he like to eat it out
I just cooked in the crib, he still want to eat it out (damn!)
Oh God, its Remy Martin
In a hot pink Porsche with the purple carpets, nigga!
[Chorus: Remy Ma]
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Yeah yeah yeah yeah
[Remy Ma]
Oh God!
[Verse 2: Fat Joe (Remy Ma)]
Hollywood swingin'
Uhh, yo
Crack, who could believe he's in the cockpit (cockpit)
Overseas, movin' keys like a locksmith (yeah)
Rocks from Witsick in the sits of neck (okay)
All I do is warn 'cause that's the big boy jet (okay)
Uh, you never rocked with the R. in Chicago (noo!)
Or I picked up a bad bitch in a Murcielago (noo!)
I got cribs, better yet estates, man (man)
I'm in L.A. with Atlanta plates fam (fam)
Still niggas wanna go against Crack (Crack!)
But that's like (?) goin' against Shaq (Shaq!)
And that's too much Diesel, I got too much people (people)
Muh'fuckers, you crazy I'll leave you (I'll leave you!)
And I ain't got to tell how many sets I trip
But you can find me on the woods now that's a testament
Or maybe at a lounge with an extra bitch
Eye candy of the month, goddamn she sick!
She got a problem, I can help her with that
Tell her man that she's fuckin' with Crack
Bet he won't do nothin' (nope)
Frontin' like he gon' do somethin' (nope)
Quick to tell you that his whole crew stuntin' (talk to him!)
Talk to me, c'mon
[Chorus: Remy Ma]
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Yeah yeah yeah yeah
Yeah!
[Outro: Fat Joe]
Yeah, feel that right there
Nod your head to this shit right here, that real hip-hop right there
It's Cook Coke Crack, TS, Remy Ma
Album coming, summer's ours cocksuckers
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