pain is love

(feat. Lounge Mode & Solomon Childs)
(Chorus: Cappadonna)
Pain is love, thats what this ***** told me
I keep washin my face with blunts and O.E
Mix coke with dust, still can hold me
What made ya mutha****as think you control me?
(Lounge Mode)
Staten Island been wildin, so Osamas nothing
And my ** ***z out in Brooklyn said Saddam was frontin
Gotta squad, what you think, it aint no guns or something?
Picture Me Rollin, holdin less than a one or somethin
You fake *** ***s, yeah we got that big automatic
Like, Bruce Willis and the Jackal type, yeah, right
You wanna see it? Then get on my nerves
Oh you live, and Im gettin money spit on my curb
In the hood where it get no harder, only tougher
Crack fiends suffer, baby moms, baby brother
Hustlin, still forty off a hundred packs
Id rather lounge in the back of the bar
Me and my dog throw crack in the jar
Listen to this rap star, while I sit back in the car
And I told yall *****z how the Staten rock
We dont, trick on chicks, yo we clap them shots
You get caught if you ask a lot, like you dont know
And where you at, then ya ass is got
(Chorus)
(Solomon Childs)
We bringin back the Twin Towers, 20-0-3, crack game electronic
Conceived with slow jams by The Delfonics
At a level that you should of been years ago
Responsible usually for coke traffic, usually for broken bone tragic
Rest in peace, to Mayor Gulianis term
They say Im wrong, ****
Im trynna see 26, with my daughters at the Emmy Awards
All around the ball glowin, they got the **** flow droughted
Or maybe *****z in the hood just aint bout it
Talkin Hercules, and aint nothin but dog food
Staten Island, New York City drools
Crazy glue on my fingerprints
Name on the concrete of my hood, whats really good ?
Vendettas with these rap stars
Frontin like this crime and the pet is they cars
Believe I was God in my last life
What if it was your knife? What if they was your gloves, *****..
(Chorus)
(Cappadonna)
Aiyo, I came into this game on some real love ****
And yall ***** ass ** ***z, yall wanted me to quit
Because the way I dress ill and the way that I spit
But I aint never gon stop, droppin these joints
And yall fake ass ***** z, yall aint gettin no points
Dont try to sabotage me, cuz you just cant do it
You had me in the ******, last year, but you blew it
Big Donna from the group home, thats my word
Splash shots at your whip, splash shots at your bird
Leave your brains and your Gucci boots up on the curb
Pillage for life, *****s will be the most superb
Smoke **** with the cannon, smoke the herb
So bow down, all you crab ass clowns you cant live
My guns on empty, but its more shots to give
I pop you like a slave cop, run in your crib
Throw darts at your wife, throw darts at your kid
Leave your house flooded with hits like O.J. did
Escapin the crime scene and you love how I slid
(Chorus)