Текст песни We Don't Care (featuring Cuban Link) - Explict - Cuban Link , Big Punisher

Yeah, the foundation, l.
P Latins goin platinum baby!
Yeah yeah, yeah Uh,
Year 2000 Terror squadians (terror squad) We rock
The party and (you won't like me when I'm angry) (
I guarantee you, you won't like me when I'm angry) Yeah, yeah,
Yeah terror squadians Yeah, yeah, yeah,
Yeah (uh, yeah) We rock the party and Yeah!
I tear the club up, pull up in the hummer with pun My fuckin brother,
Makin motherfuckers run for cover The number runner son,
I'm nothin but a hustler Burnin rubber with
Drugs, stuffed up in the muffler Shut the fuck up!
Bust a slug through your jugular Plus suckers
Get fucked up with golf clubs, never front on us T.
S.
Baby, straight out the b.
X.
Baby So if they BS, we deeper than the u.
S.
Navy You ain't crazy, laid up in the club like what?
With all the ladies, showin us nothin but love Guzzlin 80,
Proof to truth, straight to the gut In a mercedes,
Coupe fucked up doin a buck If jakes chase me, I'm cuttin off trucks,
Pressin my luck It's all gravy, puffin the blunt,
Blazin it up Maybe you hate me,
Cause your baby mom's on my nuts She wanna rape
Me, just because I'm sexy as fuck So nigga what?
Tear the club up!
Cause we don't care E'rybody strip
Yeah we don't care Shoot the place up!
Yeah we don't care (nuh,
Ah) We don't care (nuh, ah!) We don't care!! (
Nah!) Yeah we don't care Squaders
Yes, yeah we don't care Fuck you nigga!
Nah we don't care (nuh, ah) We don't care (nuh, ah!) We don't care!! (
Nah!)
Yo I'm livin in madness,
Given the spanish props I got to have it Loadin and bustin' up mad
Clips, gettin' up asses Grabbin' the girls on they asses Duck when
The mac hits or be dead before your body falls Cause when my shotty
Roars we ignore guiliani laws My trigger got no heart nigga,
I'm blowin apart liver And holdin the glocks, call to the cops,
I'm blowin the spot Baby better head for the hills,
My niggas wild for the night My lead ready to peel this shit really
Real My clip really filled,
Your chick better chill My dick fit to kill,
We fittin to ill No survivors,
Frozen godivas or roses and flowers Sour the grapes for those opposin
The squaders Thrown in the garbage, like funky pajamas,
Word to my junkie mama I'mma keep it funky for homies livin tomorrow
You fuckin with scholars,
Street knowledge Carter kids stuck to the projects Go ahead keep
Checkin that mall Me and cuban gon' keep doublin our chips Keep
Talkin that dumb shit like you want it Yeah when are
You gonna buck shit Wanted a slugfest, they want this??
Mug shit Uh
Yeah Big punisher Cuban link Terror squad Y'all wanna party?
Gon' party our way Anything goes The code of the streets, what what?