Fat Joe, Poo Bear - Preacher on a Sunday Morning lyrics

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 AK 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's St tropez
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
Nigga

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