Attention please, attention please
This feel like the whole entire world collapsed
Uh, this that yellow tape shit
They keep running out of it
We just sold like eight bricks
We ain't running out of it
This our fucking hood, bitch
Run yo' ass up out of it
This gun come with eight clips
Shoot 'til I run out of it
Work, work, work, I got it
Work, work, work, I got it
Work, work, work, I got it
I got it, I got it
This that yellow tape shit, me
I'm 'bout to go ape shit
Got eight chicks on eight Molly's
And they about to take eight trips
Dice game, eight trips
Got a Houston Rocket from J Prince
She get it poppin', I'm a send her shopping
And that ain't even my main bitch
Home invasions, live action
Smoker Joe, I'm highjacking
Wrote the dope, had my dough
I'll be there, Five Jacksons
Sin City, K.O.D.
Hundred thousand all in one's
Versace jacket, Versace shoes, Versace shades
I got a thousand sons
Mama, you the shit, I'll pay your car note
Why you fucking with him? Even his car broke
We rocking Balmain's down to the cargos
Your bitch so thirsty, Murcielago
This that yellow tape shit
They keep running out of it
We just sold like eight bricks
We ain't running out of it
This our fucking hood, bitch
Run yo' ass up out of it
This gun come with eight clips
Shoot 'til I run out of it
Work, work, work, I got it
Work, work, work, I got it
Work, work, work, I got it
I got it, I got it
Call me Joey, I'm a bad ass
Harlem world like Baghdad
Come through with a black flag
And Supreme Vans, the Half Cabs
Bitches on that tired ad
Fuck her with her fat ass
I get, gets my dick licked
My friends hit
(That's swag, swag)
What the fuck you mean?
I be sitting clean, sipping lean
Alexander Wang, that's the fucking jeans
Triple Beam
When I serve the fiends
Hit you with the beam chopper scream
Leave a nigga dead
Fucking with the team, magazine
Choo choo that train go
Drink slow, my chain gold
Soo-Woop or you True Blue
Don't get your block yellow taped though
Eight bricks get it shaved off
Yeen' ho' yeen' know
Range Rover or the bank roll
I shoot, shoot then change clothes
This that yellow tape shit
They keep running out of it
We just sold like eight bricks
We ain't running out of it
This our fucking hood, bitch
Run yo' ass up out of it
This gun come with eight clips
Shoot 'til I run out of it
Work, work, work, I got it
Work, work, work, I got it
Work, work, work, I got it
I got it, I got it
You know we loaded with them
Choppers by the hundred, boy
When you talk about that work
You niggas unemployed
White work, I got it
Brown work, I got it
Two chains, show your titty ho'
Damn right, I got it
Just copped about eight bricks
Just copped about eight whips
Copped work from Saint Nick
Your whole stash like eight nicks
Smoke that loud and keep it quiet
Let that money talk
Get that brown bag and I skate off
Like I'm Tony Hawk
Benz drop my top back
Your bitch look, I slide that
To the South Bronx and I pop that
She call you for that ride back
South Bronx we got it
Joe Crack we got it
Black card, no limit ho
Damn right, we 'bout it
Coke boy
This that yellow tape shit
They keep running out of it
We just sold like eight bricks
We ain't running out of it
This our fucking hood, bitch
Run yo' ass up out of it
This gun come with eight clips
Shoot 'til I run out of it
Work, work, work, I got it
Work, work, work, I got it
Work, work, work, I got it
I got it, I got it
Yellow Tape Lyrics performed by Fat Joe are property and copyright of the authors, artists and labels. You should note that Yellow Tape Lyrics performed by Fat Joe is only provided for educational purposes only and if you like the song you should buy the CD