Preacher On A Sunday Morning - Fat Joe

Kilka, kills mania,

Get used to this one,

"crack"

Scotty

Oh yeah I'm back on that shit

And I say right about now New York City.

They say is life and death, there's no future fronting.

I see a mac and a tec keeping duz coming

Coka,

Joe is a fake Cartagegna

Nice with the hands better with the banger.

Guns I'm no stranger

Keep an A.K when I battle probably throw a fake nigga parade. I'm known!

But who gives a fuck I don't care.

Don't lead them let the welfare feed them.

Niggas had me thinking that Joey is fucked up!

Skiddles with the maybachs banging rooftops.

Life sucks for you maybe the Jew is crazy

In the stay pieces to death thanks to who baby.

Stay cleaned up on a preacher on a sunday morning, I got cake but I need more ice and alle

I say off the streets I'm a symphony, niggas want my sympathy presiding official remedy,

Stay cleaned up on a preacher on a sunday morning,

King of New york, King of New York, but we don't ever see these niggas up in New york

Can anybody tell me where centropey

All these so called killers try their best to dress gay.

Everybody beefing it's the same old day.

All these mixtape rappers now want to claim king

Everybody saying they are bringing New Yor back

But we the only niggas you pitch back the back(crack!)

You hear the echo, son of a nesto I'll let the tec blow

You should feel sky plenty like pistol, fuck a phone call I barely got a whistle

Coka, there's no one harder

Get off your knees get a job at the carter.

Throw a banks and invite your friends,

Yougarentee to see a couple of ends.

See I've been getting money since who knows when

These other niggas just all pretend

You've been bamboozled diz duzu say thugs

Love at madison square they givin group hugs

Now let me take you to the streets of darkness, where I keep your favourite mc underneath my armpit the bronze kid.

I'm only speaking the truth,

Shit, look what these streets

May cologilua do