Yeah.. Definition of a Don. It's like I gotta keep remindin you and remindin you. 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.