Fat Joe and The Game - Breathe and Stop

Yeah, it's the Profit, it's the Profit
East Coast, West Coast, come down selector, see it
Latino Market, you know we got that *** in Memphis
You writin' them checks, go holla at my boy Damon

All my ***, throw your dubs up
If you ain't from the Westside, put your guns up
Let a shot go, *** squeeze and pop
Let them feel it when the bassline drop

And all my ***, throw you're hands up
You in the club with you're girls, call your man up
'Cause you ain't comin' home, mami
Breathe and stop, exhale when the bassline drop

Aiyyo, there's murder on the streets
Killa capital, I'm blastin' you
For the love of this dough, that's what I have to do
I'm posted up, corner king, they named me Coka
Got caught, didn't say a thing, you're not supposed to

La Costa Nostra, Gotti gang, my shotty ring
Call it a killer's exhibition, let the body hang
A real work of art, show your heart, I blow you smart
Yeah, it's the ghetto god, rep the Bronx 'til I'm gone

Was sent to prison, you know me, homie, the chromey's itchin'
Leave you holy if you rollin' with some bad intentions
Fit the ***, then again you know that
And we don't never see him in the hood and he owe rats

Joey don't give a ***, told my *** hold that
Usually found in the kitchen, where the stove at?
Got that ***, got that ***, get them *** sacks
My little man pitchin', yeah, we call him Sandy Cossacks

All my ***, throw your dubs up
If you ain't from the Westside, put your guns up
Let a shot go, *** squeeze and pop
Let them feel it when the bassline drop

And all my ***, throw you're hands up
You in the club with you're girls, call your man up
'Cause you ain't comin' home, mami
Breathe and stop, exhale when the bassline drop

Lord of war, you need a hammer, I?ll sell you guns
Sell *** to Pablo, sell grammar to Pun
Stop searchin' ***, I am the one
Pepper spray gangsters, show you how the iron is slung

Now I could play like Kanye and let my chest hairs show
Put on them cool Moe Dee glasses but that just ain't Joe
Play shot and then I switch up the flow
Like what the blood glock, bumbaklaat, you ain't *** with Joe

Now mama loves me, her friends hate me
Jealous 'cause they boyfriends ain't me
We gettin' that baby love, yeah, we pain free
Ain't nobody pocket certain here, we paid G's

Now listen up, you in love with a stripper
I *** her and diss her
I give her that mayo, you come and you kiss her
*** Crack been a G ever since
Sit back and watch the money get bricks, muh'f***

All my ***, throw your dubs up
If you ain't from the Westside, put your guns up
Let a shot go, *** squeeze and pop
Let them feel it when the bassline drop

And all my ***, throw you're hands up
You in the club with you're girls, call your man up
'Cause you ain't comin' home, mami
Breathe and stop, exhale when the bassline drop

Coka, Game, the gangsta gangsta
TA, what's up? I see you ***
New York, Killa capital, Cali, Killa-Cali

Written by:
Allen Cole, Anthony Torres, Carlton Barrett, Jaceyon Taylor, Joseph Cartagena

Publisher:
Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Warner Chappell Music, Inc.

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