Yeah, the foundation
L.G.P
Latins Goin Platinum, baby (yeah, yeah, yeah)
Year 2000 (uh, yeah)
Terror Squadians (Terror Squad)
(You won't like me when I'm angry) we rock the party and
(I guarantee you, you won't like me when I'm angry) uh, yeah, yeah
Terror Squadians
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah (uh)
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 B.S., 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 (nah)
We don't care (nah), we don't care (nah)
Yeah, we don't care
T. Squaders (yeah), yeah, we don't care
Fuck you, nigga, nah, we don't care (nah)
We don't care (nah), 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 Giuliani 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 of those opposin' the Squaders
Thrown in the garbage, like funky pajamas, word to my junkie mama
I'ma keep it funky for homies up in Elmira
You fuckin' with scholars, street knowledge
Carter kids stuck to the projects
Go ahead keep checkin' that mall and
Me and Cuban gon' keep doublin' our chips
Keep talkin' that dumb shit like you want it
Yeah, when are you gonna buck shit?
Whether there's hundreds and what?
This chrome needs more shit, punk bitch

Tear the club up 'cause we don't care
E'rybody strip, 'cause we don't care (yeah)
Shoot the place up, we don't care (nah)
We don't care (nah), we don't care (nah)
Nah, we don't care
T. Squaders, nah, we don't care
Fuck you, nigga, we don't care (nah)
We don't care (nah), we don't care (nah)

Uh, uh
Yeah
Big Punisher
Cuban Link
Terror squad
Y'all wanna party? Gon' party our way
Anything goes
Code of the streets, what, what?

Copyright: JELLYBEAN MUSIC GROUP, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Universal Music Publishing Group
Writer(s): Christopher Rios, Coln Blonstone, David Jones, Richard Frierson