Yellow Tape Lyrics - Fat Joe

Attention please, x2 

This feel like the whole entire world collapsed 

Uh, This that yellow tape shit 

They keep running out of it 

We just sold like 8 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 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 high jacking 

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 son's 

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 cargo's 

Your bitch so thirsty, Murcielago 

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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 Pad-ad, Fuck her with her fat ass 

I get-gets my dick licked, my friends hit (That's trap trap) 

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 Rove or the bank roll, I shoot-shoot then change clothes 

Photos 

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 (Haan) 

South Bronx we got it, Joe Crack we got it 

Black card no limit ho, damn right we 'bout it 

Coke boy (Joe Crack)